


The Last Straw

by dixiemame33



Category: Disney Cartoons (Classic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixiemame33/pseuds/dixiemame33
Summary: An AU Disney Fanfic inspired by the legendary fairy-tale, Rumpelstiltskin. In a kingdom ruled by a narcissistic soul, two siblings try to survive with every coin they have. But a well-meaning lie from Donald puts his sister Minnie into unthinkable danger. Can they achieve the king's impossible task? Can they remember all they've forgotten? Only a man with no name has the key.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to my awesome editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!
> 
> This isn't exactly one of the stories I've desired to do forever or had locked up in my head for ages - this is more of a challenge to see if I could do it. I plan for it to be a short tale like The Nutcracker Prince (although I did intend that to be shorter than it turned out to be, so who knows?) But no matter what, I hope you enjoy the ride.

Waking up from deep, long dreams can often be an exhausting experience, as the young woman laying in her bed was learning. The sun was poking in through ratty curtains, casting a simple yet unwelcome glow on her face. With a tiny grunt, she turned over, trying to hold what remained of a blanket close to her chest. The remains of the dream were already beginning to scatter, and reminders of what the real world was like crawled in to take their place. Within seconds she had forgotten what the dream was about, and could only be sure that she had dreamed. The memories of it slipped through her fingers, and she grunted again, disappointed, though she didn't know why.

But morning was here, and that meant it was time to get up and face the day. She gave up on trying to remember what she'd forgotten, and sat up in bed, yawning quietly as she stretched her small arms. She doubted that even if her yawn was loud and bellowing it'd wake up her brother, but she preferred to make as little noise as possible. She never liked loud things, and often her brother would tease her that the reason was because of her large, black ears. She'd counter that at least she had ears, as his were incredibly small and hidden behind his white feathers. It was a ridiculous argument that usually wound up in silly laughter, but these days the funny exchanges were harder to find. Life was getting difficult.

With one more yawn, she crawled out of bed, no longer wincing when her bare feet touched the cold floor. She shuffled over to her small dresser drawer, deciding that today she could forgo a bath – water had to be carefully saved, now that King Mortimer had declared a tax on using the local wells. Everything had a tax nowadays, and many depressingly mused that one day the King would issue a tax on complaining about the taxes. If that joke ever became reality, her brother would be in the poorhouse within minutes. Then again, as she glanced at their cold, dirty, moth-eaten surroundings, was there a house poorer than this? But thinking on such a glum matter this early wouldn't get anything done, and she tried to shake the sad thoughts from her mind.

She tried thinking about the positives, like how her favorite pink frilly socks didn't have any holes and that there was less straw on the floor than usual. Her older brother worked with animals - horses were his personal favorite - and often he'd come home covered in straw. She made a mental note to sweep the floor later, although it would only stay clean for a couple of hours. With her outfit for the day chosen, she walked to her brother's room, not bothering to knock. Many years ago, this large house had been filled with happy relatives, until each one married or left to pursue their own adventurous life. Now it was just the two of them.

Her brother was laying on his stomach, snoring obnoxiously and drooling on his pillow. He shivered occasionally from the cold – there had been only one blanket left after selling most of their possessions, and after a long, heated debate, her brother ranted that if she didn't take it, he'd throw it out. Such angry stubbornness was often the way he showed how much he loved her, and she did appreciate it, although it also made her feel guilty, as it did now. She sighed heavily, and then began to shake his shoulder. “Donald, it's time to get up! We have to get to the market before everything is sold out!”

Donald had probably been awake for some time now, but unlike his sister who could easily roll out of bed, he needed additional assistance. “Don't wanna,” he mumbled into the bed. “Go away.”

“We have to buy eggs, and milk, and bread! And we have to get that hole in the roof fixed! And you have to go to work, and I have to fix Clarabelle's dress, and...”

“Don't wanna,” he repeated in the same tired tone, having not listened to a word she said.

She rolled her eyes, but knew exactly what to say to get his attention. “Okay, go back to sleep. Daisy had stopped by to visit, but I guess I'll just tell her to leave-”

The moment Daisy's name was mentioned, Donald bolted upright, scrambling so fast to get out of bed that he tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor face first. He dizzily slid the rest of his body onto the floor, and once he'd regained his senses, cast a small glare at his little sister. “Daisy's not here, is she?”

“Good morning, Donald.” She smiled sweetly.

“...Good morning, Minnie.” One day he wasn't going to fall for that trick, but it certainly wasn't going to be anytime soon. He rolled onto his back and managed to find his feet, standing up and smoothing down his white feathers. His stomach rumbled and the siblings did their best to pretend they hadn't heard it. Breakfast was sometimes a luxury, but if everything went right at the market, they might be able to have it for a few days. Donald dragged himself to his own drawer, merely choosing to slap a coat over his pajamas, mumbling that he didn't care as to what other people saw – which was a lie, he cared far too much, but he didn't want to make his sister worry that he was running out of clothing. “Eggs, milk, and... what was the last one?”

“Bread,” Minnie reminded him, waiting patiently for him to finish. “I can take care of the eggs, and talk to Clarabelle about her dress at the same time. Once you get the milk and bread, you can head straight to work.” She felt it necessary to add, “And I do mean _straight_ to work.”

Donald tugged on his coat. He knew full well what his sister meant, but pride controlled his beak. “What's that supposed to mean? I always go right to work.” He headed for the hall, hoping that it would end the conversation, but Minnie tailed him.

“I mean, don't get into any fights, and don't start lying again.” She stayed right at his side, giving him a knowing look while he refused to meet her eyes.

“Name one time I have ever lied,” Donald replied, trying to dodge at least one complaint.

“You told Horace you could lift a wagon with one arm. You told Miss Cluck we were descendants of pirate vikings. You told Mister Jones we had a secret supply of expensive talking silk-worms hidden in the basement. You told the blacksmith-”

“I SAID NAME _ONE_ TIME!”

Minnie was unfazed by her brother's yell as they made it to the front door, and Donald hemmed and hawed, trying to calm down before they were in public. “So maybe, on occasion, I exaggerate a smidgen.”

Arguing semantics would take all day, so Minnie skipped ahead. “I just don't understand why you do it. You know everyone is going to call you out on it, and then you look worse than before.” She grabbed a small wicker basket that sat by the door, lightly swinging it by its worn-out handle.

They stepped into the gentle, dim sunlight which was now beginning to loom over the small kingdom. Their home was the furthest away from the castle, and often had the most travelers roll by their door. When Minnie was younger, she was always happy to see a carriage slow down to a stop, as it meant a potential customer had come by with clothes that needed patching or sewing. Travelers were seen less and less now, as nobody wanted to come visit their land, the once beautiful Kingdom of Haulm.

Donald stuck his hands in his pockets as they walked. “Is it so wrong that I wish we were better than what we are? A down-on-their luck family that's struggling to get by, in a miserable kingdom with a rotten king...”

“That sounds like everyone here,” Minnie replied, glancing around to make sure the captain of the guards wasn't around. He was the only man who cared when someone bad-mouthed the King, and even then it was only because he was rewarded when pointing out 'traitors to the crown'. “But I like who we are!”

“But I don't want to be like everyone else.” Donald snorted hard. “I wish we were special in some way! Something that makes us stand out, something that says we're worth being alive, something like... I don't know, just a purpose.” He kicked a pebble out of his way, knowing that explaining this was fruitless. “Every day we do the same things, and nothing ever changes.”

They were getting closer to the marketplace, with people loudly shouting their wares and the sounds of chickens clucking mixed with mooing cows. Minnie spotted a familiar, welcome face in the early crowd. “Well...things don't always have to be that way. I know someone who would like a big change only you can provide.”

Donald had a fair guess as to what Minnie was referring to, and he glanced to where she was looking. A young lady duck was carefully setting out displays of freshly picked flowers, tied up neatly in elaborate ribbons. While everyone in the village had meager means, some were less meager than others. It would only be a matter of time before she was in the same boat as everyone else, but for now she could afford dresses with extra length and extra decorations. She was beautiful, and she knew it, often using a flirtatious wink or tilt of her hips to guarantee a sale. But once money had been exchanged, she made it clear that she herself was not for sale, and was quite happily taken – by Donald.

Donald made a long, uncomfortable noise in his throat before speaking. “Not yet. Just... not yet.” He knew Minnie was going to launch into a full tirade and tried to cut her off. “Look, I'm not going to marry her until I know you'll be okay!” With Daisy's extra riches, Donald would have lived with her instead of the other way around, but that was not a choice he could live with just yet, despite his sister's insistence.

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Minnie put her hands on her hips, her pale cheeks puffing out. “I don't need to wait for a man to sweep me off my feet and protect me forever! I can do just fine without anyone! You can go live with Daisy and live happily ever after without me.”

“It's not a happily ever after until I know my sister is happy.” Donald lightly poked Minnie on the nose, but it failed to elicit a giggle like when she was younger. “I know you can live well enough on your own, it's not like that. It's not about you being protected or taken care of or anything like that.” For all his faults, ill assumptions about the other sex wasn't one of them. “I just don't want you to be alone.”

Minnie's lips pressed together and she didn't say anything right away. The big problem was that Minnie didn't want to live alone either. She was a social creature by nature, and dreaded the thought of being in that big house all by herself, of days without happy conversations and affectionate embraces. Ever since Donald and Daisy had started their courtship over a year ago, an ugly jealousy had grown in her big heart – not just for “losing” her beloved brother, but longing deeply for something similar. Yet she pressed down on these unpleasant emotions and suddenly shoved Donald on the back. “Well, I'm fine to go shopping alone so keep that in mind!” It took another shove for Donald to give up on talking and head towards Daisy, offering a tired wave. Daisy perked up to see him, and once he was close, kissed him on the cheek. He blushed, smiling as he tucked an arm around her shoulders, asking about her day and her plans.

Minnie watched them for a moment longer, each beat of her heart like a ferocious wasp stinging her flesh. Donald deserved to be happy with his beloved, and Minnie was the one obstacle preventing that. Daisy spotted Minnie out of the corner of her eye, and she began to wave, trying to invite her over. Daisy was sometimes curt and a little too honest, but she was a good woman, and perfect for Minnie's brother. It wouldn't have surprised Minnie if Daisy would have also welcomed her into her home once the knot was tied, yet Minnie couldn't see herself accepting the generous offer. Perhaps stubbornness was a family trait. Minnie wouldn't let herself be a burden on Donald's shoulders for the rest of his life.

She waved back but was quick to walk off, suppressing her sadness once again. What about the rest of her life? Minnie would be happy to continue fixing people's clothes, as it gave her great joy to restore life to everyone's favorite pieces of fabric. The look of a man's face as he saw his old trousers ready for farm-work again, the giddy laughter of children showing off their born-again socks, the eager gratitude of old women feeling young again in their restored lace...These were worth far more than any coin. Helping others was the best kind of feeling – so knowing that she couldn't help Donald was in turn the worst feeling.

The easiest solution would be if she got married, and while hardly narcissistic, Minnie knew she wasn't unattractive. Even with bags under her eyes and her stomach caving in, she still got interested glances from many men, such as today as she headed for Clarabelle's booth. There had been a number of times when, upon fixing a stranger's ripped pants she could clearly tell the tear was hand-made and not an accident so they had claimed. It'd merely been a way to try to offer a date as a payment. It had been cute the first time, suspicious the second, and by the fifth time someone had done it she'd up and thrown her sewing needle at his head. If she was going to date anyone, she wanted them to be honest, not skip out on giving her hard-earned money.

Then there was that last thing that she wouldn't tell anyone – not Donald, not Daisy, not Clarabelle, she wouldn't even speak it outside of her own mind. It was just... a _feeling_. A feeling that being with someone wasn't right. It was stronger than distaste or revulsion – it was if someone in the back of her mind wouldn't let her date anyone, screaming at her the moment she even dared to think of it, her entire body refusing to accept anyone. No matter how handsome or nice they were, this unnamed feeling sat in the back of her eye like a watchful stranger. She knew if she ever told someone, she'd sound insane, and had to wonder sometimes if she actually _was_ insane since she couldn't understand this feeling. A sensation that something was missing. A pause in the great plan of life. She walked on.

Clarabelle was cuddling one of her favorite chickens, believing that if her beloved birds saw how well their eggs sold, it would encourage them to lay more. When Minnie approached, the old cow smiled, and bent over to kiss Minnie's cheek. “Good morning, Minnie! It is a deee-light to see you, it truly is.”

Minnie easily wore her smile like make-up, forgoing all her bad thoughts. “Good morning, Clarabelle. Do you know you say that every morning?”

“Because it's true every morning!” Clarabelle grinned, and Minnie let out a little laugh. “How are you, my dear? Keeping Donald out of trouble?”

“Trying to, at the very least,” Minnie quipped, putting her basket on the table. “I just started work on your dress. It should be finished by Friday...but I wanted to ask you about the seams. You see, if I do it a certain way, it-”

Clarabelle held up a hand. “Tut-tut-tut!” and her chicken copied with a cluck-cluck-cluck. “Minnie, you've been fixing my clothes for ages, I trust you way more than I trust myself! Whatever you do is the right decision, it always has been and it always will be. Why, sometimes I trust you more than my own husband.”

There came that sting again, and Minnie fought it valiantly. Wasn't there an old saying that when you were unlucky in love, you saw nothing but couples around you? “And how is Horace? Is his back any better?”

Clarabelle clicked her tongue. “He still needs a few more days...the doctor said he can wait on payment, but you know how men can be. He refuses to get himself checked out until he can properly pay for it, but he can't pay for it unless he works, and we don't know when he can work until a doctor can check him out...” She rolled her hand, showing the ridiculous loop that her husband insisted upon. “Oh, but I can't blame the doctor for his prices. Everyone has to make a living.” It was here that Clarabelle paused and glanced down at her chicken sadly, as if dreading the moment to come.

“I'm sure things will work out.” Minnie tried for an air of positivity, pulling coins from her pocket and counting them over. “If you can wake up and see tomorrow, then you're already better off... eight, nine, ten... All right! I'll have our usual dozen.”

Clarabelle sighed so heavily that Minnie thought she was deflating. “That'll be... twenty silver.”

Minnie nodded once before actually hearing the amount, and she almost dropped all her coins in shock. “Twenty?!” she repeated so loudly that a few heads around began to swivel. “But... but that's twice as much as usual! I can't afford that!” She doubted most people could.

Clarabelle's shoulders dropped, and she hugged her chicken protectively. “I'm so sorry, Minnie, but... what with all of King Mortimer's new taxes, I have to raise my prices just to keep the farm running! He put a new tax on chicken feed, on our coops, on our seeds... At this rate, I might need to up it to thirty if he keeps adding more charges.”

“But that's...” 'not fair', Minnie wanted to say, but what would be the point? She looked down at the coins in her hands, fighting off a wave of tears. How could things get worse in such a short amount of time? “Things didn't always use to be this way,” she said softly.

“No they weren't, I tell you what,” Clarabelle agreed, easing her hold on her chicken. “His father, now that was a righteous man! He cared for the people, he listened, and this whole kingdom used to a beautiful place! And then along comes his son...” She glanced around for any sign of the captain, and not seeing a trace of him, ranted louder than before, with a few grumbles of agreement echoing off in the distance. “Here's what I don't get – how does such a good man raise such a horrid brat? Didn't he teach Mortimer anything? How could he have let his son take the crown before he kicked the bucket? Shoot, I think Donald would've made a better king than Mortimer! It's like one day, everything's sunshine, and then,” a snap of her fingers, “nothing but storm clouds for the rest of our lives!”

Minnie could do nothing but nod along. It really didn't make sense when it was said out loud. Mortimer's father had been a loving man, a wise man, one who actually knew how a decent economy worked. Then there was the lovely queen, although Minnie hadn't known her, since she had died before Minnie was even born, due to....

Due to...

Huh. There was that funny feeling again, like a roadblock that wouldn't budge between her lobes. She lifted her head. “Say, Clarabelle, how did the Queen die?”

Clarabelle blinked rapidly, surprised at the change in topic, and then more so when she couldn't give a proper answer. She scratched her head, trying to sort through a fog. “Well, hm. Hmmm. If I remember correctly...some kind of... I think it was...Oh, yes, there was something wrong with her body, she was a weak woman.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“She was just weak. That's all.” Clarabelle seemed to be in a hurry to dismiss the subject, perhaps embarrassed that she wasn't entirely sure. Minnie couldn't blame her – being unable to answer a question was often fraught with humiliation.

While the subject still lingered in her mind, Minnie knew she couldn't spend all day sitting on it, and fished out what coins she could spare. “I can only afford six, in any case.” She began to slip the coins onto the table, and Clarabelle popped the eggs into her basket.

“Oooh, deary me,” an old, weary voice suddenly broke through, haggard and ghastly. “Are you taking them all?”

Both women turned to look at what appeared to be a very old man, although this was mostly a guess because the stranger was covered in a dark black hood from head to toe. The only hints of his appearance was a scraggly white beard that trailed endlessly from the hood, and a wrinkled, gray furred hand clutching a walking stick that had seen better days. Broken yellow nails clutched the decorated top of the stick that had once held an elaborate jewel but now was a broken mess of splinters. There was a hunch in his back, and as he breathed, exhaustion was obvious in each snort of his nostrils. He wouldn't lift his head, so it was impossible to see his face.

Neither woman recognized him, which was an oddity in and of itself. The Kingdom wasn't large by any means, and almost everyone knew everyone else. Of course, meeting someone new wasn't impossible, but for reasons they couldn't pinpoint the two women automatically knew this was an outsider. Clarabelle took to this stranger with distrust, not saying anything just yet, but Minnie's consistent kindness shined. “Oh no, not at all,” Minnie replied, smiling sweetly, always happy to make a new friend. “Just six!”

“But the price has gone up,” Clarabelle reminded them both.

“Gone up, has it?” the man asked, his head lowering even further. “This is a true tragedy... I only had enough for one, but if that's the case, I can't have any at all.” He opened his other hand, showing a singular dirty coin. “Ma'am, can you not spare even one egg for this poor soul? I can't even recall the last time I've eaten,” ee lamented with a sad sigh, his hand dropping.

“If I do, then I become the next poor soul,” Clarabelle replied, even though there was a guilty tone in her voice. “Look, mister, I'm sorry that you have a sob story, but I have to make a choice between feeding my family and feeding strangers...”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” The old man drew a deep breath, trying to turn back around. “This is a time to eat or be eaten...”

Minnie looked down at the remaining coins in her hand, the ones she couldn't afford to needlessly give away, and then to the basket full of eggs. Her hesitation only lasted two seconds more before she snatched the basket and quickly strode up to the stranger. “Here, you can have mine!”

Clarabelle groaned Minnie's name, not deeply surprised, and it was the only warning she could think to give. The old man lifted his head, and while Minnie still couldn't make out where his mouth or nose was, she thought she saw a hint of dazzling blue eyes. But when she blinked it was gone, and the old man was speaking. “All of them? Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” Minnie smiled as she spoke, the same smile that endeared the kingdom and made hearts melt. “I already paid, and I don't need them. My brother Donald will be getting us bread and milk, that'll be enough for us! You need them more than I do anyway. Here, please.” Donald would be upset, as would her empty stomach, but her heart would be full knowing that this man wouldn't starve. She held out the basket, waiting.

Though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt them staring at her, gazing intently. A strange thing happened when he talked again. “You haven't changed at all.” His voice sounded younger in that sentence, softer too, yet also agonized in ways that were beyond Minnie's comprehension.

She tilted her head. “I'm sorry, have we met before?” She was quite sure she hadn't, but she'd hardly call her memory perfect.

The old man's hands flinched as if the words had drove a knife right into his chest. He cleared his throat, the age in his voice once more, and he took the basket. “Thank you,” he said, completely ignoring her question. “You are a very generous young lady.”

“Too generous, if you ask me,” said Clarabelle, even though no one had asked her.

“I try,” Minnie replied, never one to fully accept a compliment. “Do you need any more help? The market can really busy this time of morning, I can show you around!” The idea was a little exciting, as even though the kingdom was dark and depressing, it was still her home and thus still a place she loved dearly. She would have been happy to introduce whoever this was to her brother and all her friends. “And if your clothes ever need fixing, you can always come to me, Minnie!” She pointed at herself, hoping to put a smile on the man's face even if she couldn't see it.

“No, this is where we will part,” the old man said, and he reached out to take Minnie's hand. Clarabelle had half a mind to climb over the table and slap it off, but Minnie didn't look distressed. His wrinkled flesh held Minnie's hand gently, a thumb pressing into Minnie's palm. On sudden instinct Minnie found her fingers wrapping around it, and she looked down at their joined hands, befuddled. “I will repay your kindness,” he said in that low, soft tone again. “I promise.”

He took his time pulling his hand back, and then he walked away with the basket and his stick, shuffling along with his head down, ignored by all the other villagers.

Once the old man was far enough away, Clarabelle huffed. “Donald's going to tan your hide for that, Minnie.” She waited for a retort that didn't come, and when she looked at her small friend, found Minnie's cheek had a tear rolling down. “Minnie!” She tossed her chicken onto the ground, where it rolled around until it dizzily landed on its rump. Clarabelle was in front of Minnie in seconds, grasping her hand. “Oh, I knew it, I knew he was trouble, where did he hurt you?”

“Huh?” Minnie blinked at Clarabelle's over the top of the reaction. She didn't realize anything was odd until she felt a cold sensation on her cheek. How odd. “Oh, Clarabelle, it's nothing! You worry too much.” Yet she welcomed the worry, as it was a clear sign of friendship, and hoped a hug would settle the problem. She was disappointed that she couldn't help the old man any further, but it was no reason to cry. So why had her eyes disobeyed her mind?

Minnie felt it, and so did Clarabelle, and a great number of villagers felt it too, that sensation in their minds that something... that someone had...

… And then it was gone. The day was normal. Minnie went home, hoping her brother had better luck.

~*~

Amazingly enough, Donald's luck was not only better, it was actually spectacular. After a loving encounter with Daisy, he had found someone's dropped coin, finders keepers. The baker had made a miscalculation with the loaves, which meant Donald got an extra one for his troubles. The milk was fresh, and it came with a jovial conversation about their mutual friends, that perhaps things weren't as bad as all that. To top it off, Mister Jones, who Donald typically tended to argue with, actually needed help with his horses, which not only meant more money in Donald's pocket but a boost to his ego as well. Not a single lie had been spoken.

Much like Minnie had magic with clothes, Donald was a wizard when it came to animals. They adored him and would listen to anything he said, and he in turn loved them just as deeply. Animals didn't care about your social status or your place in the world. His official job was working in the royal stables, but more often than not he wound up doing odd jobs for all the various farmers. He was the one who could convince shy lambs that it was time to get a cut, the pigs that they needed medicine, the horses that they'd look better with new shoes. Naturally this came with manual labor, cleaning and brushing and clipping, but that also pleased him, since physical work made him feel like a stronger person.

With his mood high in the clouds, he even began to whistle as he headed towards the looming castle after dropping off the milk and bread at home. What a swell day! Daisy gave him a kiss, they'd have eggs, milk and bread to last them a while, people were happy, he made more income, there was absolutely nothing that could ruin – oh, he'd just doomed himself, didn't he?

“Enough with the noise, quackers!”

Yep, Donald should have known better than to think he'd have a good day. Donald had made it to the stables and pushed open the door, but there had come that grating voice right behind him, a shadow towering over and demanding attention. Donald wanted to launch a tirade, but Minnie's words hovered around him, and he swallowed it down. “Pete.”

“That's _Captain_ Pete to you!” Once upon a time Pete's armor fit him perfectly, as he'd once been a fit, muscular man. But now he was a sagging, fleshy monstrosity, his gut peeking out under silver armor and his sleeves struggling to stay in place. A wise man would have simply gotten new armor, but this wasn't a wise man. Pete was Captain of the Guard, the man who gave out orders to all guardsmen that protected the castle. During the former King's reign, this protection extended to all the citizens, but Mortimer had decreed his life was far more valuable and this needed far more protection. More than anything, Pete was a middleman between the two, and it might have explained his frequent bullying. Donald was his favorite target. “You gotta learn some respect towards your superiors!”

Donald visibly shook from the effort not to rise to the challenge. “Yes, sir,” he hissed through his teeth, placing his sack down in a corner. “I've got to get to work.”

Pete frowned. It was no fun picking on someone when they refused to acknowledge it, and if Pete couldn't make people feel they were less than him, he would feel lesser himself. “You better not start anything today, duck. One wrong word and I could tell the King to kick you out!”

Donald glanced over, pondering if Pete actually had that power, but he doubted it. “I'm not going to start a thing,” he replied as calmly as he could make it, picking up a rake and using it to push hay around. The day started with clean-up, and would end with clean-up. A few nearby horses whinnied in their stalls, pleased to see their friend. “I'm just here to work. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” This caused Pete to laugh. “You're nothin' like me! I've got a real job, with real power, and real authority! And what're you? A pooper scooper!”

 _Don't get into any fights. Don't start lying again._ Minnie's voice rang in his ears. If he did either one, they'd get into trouble, and they didn't need trouble, so Donald raked harder. “There's nothing wrong with what I do. I like my work.”

“Of course you do, 'cause it suits you!” Pete sneered, apparently having nothing better to do with his time than antagonize Donald. This was not hyperbole – rotten as Mortimer was, there hadn't been any attempts on his life or mass criminal conspiracies. It was as if once Mortimer had taken the crown, everyone had effectively given up. Strangely enough this also included Pete. “A low job for a low person!”

Donald sucked the inside of his cheek, but he could only hold back so much. “Can you answer me one question?” he asked without turning around.

“I can answer any question about anything!” Pete boasted, sticking out his gut.

The stable hand looked over his shoulder. “What did I ever do to you?”

Turns out Pete couldn't answer any question about anything because he was completely thrown off. His big eyes widened, and he scratched his fuzzy cheek. “Huh?”

“I mean it. What did I do?” Now Donald did turn around, the rake still in his hand, straw already beginning to cling to his clothes. “When I first started working here, you didn't pick on me at all. We didn't talk much, but at least you weren't constantly trying to ruffle my feathers! I could've even called you _nice_ once. So, just tell me... what did I do?”

“What did you do?” Pete repeated the question, as if accusing Donald of forgetting – but Pete didn't have the answer. Donald wasn't wrong, and his own memories of those first days were as clear as glass. He was in better shape then, commanded respect, and on that day when Donald was assigned to work at the stables, he'd been told to show Donald around, be cordial, be nice. The people of the castle should all be like one big happy family. Back then he had no reason to want to make Donald miserable, or anyone miserable, because Pete hadn't felt miserable. The decision to hire Donald had come from...

… well, well it must have come from Mortimer. Of course it did, who else would it have been? The King had been older by then, and such little choices could be left up to his son. Mortimer must have hired Donald. Yet – yet when Pete really tried to visualize the memory, of Donald on day one, smiling brightly at the man who hired him – it wasn't Mortimer, but – but it must have been – a throbbing headache began to build up in Pete's head. “What does it matter?!” Pete suddenly yelled, almost knocking Donald over with the force of his shout. “Get to work and stop bothering me with stupid questions!”

“I was trying to work, you keep interrupting me!” So much for not fighting. Donald would have to apologize to his little sister later.

“I can interrupt you whenever I want, I've got the power!” Pete stuck a thumb to his chest. “And you? You're nothing! You and your whole family is nothing!”

Now Pete had struck a nerve. Insulting Donald was bad enough, but daring to imply anything bad about his family was enough to make Donald see red. “My family is amazing, you gigantic tin can!”

Pete leaned in dangerously close. “They are not! You and your whole bunch are useless good-for-nothings! There's nothing amazing about any of you!”

“Yes there is!” Donald shouted back, although he could not think of anything absolutely amazing off the top of his head. Straw had begun to itch his neck and he pulled a strand out of his collar. “Minnie can do really amazing things!”

“Oh yeah?” Pete scoffed. “What amazing things can she do?”

“She can...she can...” Donald looked at the strand of straw in his hand, and came up with the absolute worst, silliest, outlandish lie he had ever told in his entire life. “She can spin straw into gold!”

Silence fell on the stable, with even the horses going quiet, as if in awe of how ridiculousness that fib sounded. Pete stood up straight, his face pulling all sorts of confused expressions. “She can...what?”

The real problem with Donald's lies weren't that he told them, but that once he'd said them, he refused to back down until evidence proved him false. “She can turn straw into gold,” Donald said again, weaving an elaborate tale in his head. “How else do you think we can survive under all these harsh conditions? Night after night, she weaves all the straw I bring home into pure gold. She's got a rare talent, only one in a million has it. You've seen the way she fixes clothes like new, it's the same deal! That's how amazing she is.” Minnie was going to have his tail for this – if she found out, and that was a pretty big if. Donald knew what he was saying was pure nonsense, and Pete wouldn't actually believe him, thus he wouldn't ask for proof, thus nobody got hurt.

Indeed, Pete seemed stupefied by the sheer leaps in logic Donald was making. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “If that is true,” without sounding like he thought it was, “then you ought to be richer than the king right now.”

“Maybe I am,” Donald said, the rake feeling like a shovel he was digging his grave with.

Pete inhaled deeply through his nostrils. You really couldn't insult someone who had clearly lost their marbles. Angered, he stormed out of the stable, slamming the door hard behind him. Donald smirked, and twirled the rake around in victory. Okay, so he'd broke his word to Minnie, but what was the harm? He began whistling again, and resumed his work, ignoring the disapproving looks of the horses.

Every now and then he wondered about his unanswered question – about the Pete that had once smiled without a trace of malice – but it was swept away with the hay.

~*~

Pete had additional duties that came with being the Captain, and that meant having his meals with the King. It wasn't exactly a rule, but Mortimer had made it clear that skipping it would mean he could “find another captain with more time on their hands.” Pete didn't understand it the first couple of days, but the more time he spent in the castle, the more he understood. The first reason was that castle itself was creepy, and not a place you wanted to stay in alone.

After the King's death, several rooms had been locked up, with Mortimer forbidding anyone to enter them without giving them a solid reason. It gave the feeling that the castle was haunted by unseen ghosts, empty hallways echoing loudly with each step. There had also been paintings, tapestries, all kinds of decorative and functional works thrown into a fire, also with Mortimer's sole explanation being “because I said so”. So in addition to the spooky silence, the castle looked unfurnished, half-done, as if entire chunks of life were missing.

The second reason was far more pathetic.

“So,” Mortimer started, propping his legs on the table as his large, buck teeth ripped apart cow meat from bone. “Tell me, Captain, what loving praise have my people given me today?”

In contrast to Pete's stout girth, Mortimer was lean and tall, never really fitting into any chairs without obvious discomfort. A mouse like his father, his fur was black and his eyes were dark, with big round ears that only wanted to hear love and compliments. The table was covered in massive amounts of food that the two couldn't possibly finish, not for lack of trying. Pete was taking his time as he slowly munched on an apple. Unlike Donald, lies didn't come to him so easily as they required some level of creativity. “Well, um,” he started. “I might have heard your name out there once or twice.”

“Beautiful!” Mortimer clapped his hands together. “No doubt they're telling each other how much they adore their king! Come on, don't be shy, I want every last word!” He then paused. “Are you just having one apple?”

Pete swallowed. “Gee, Mortimer, I... I was thinkin' maybe I could go on a diet, or try to eat less.” Donald's words had a ring that wouldn't leave, an image of when Pete didn't run out of breath when he walked.

Mortimer stared, and then howled with laughter, standing up to slap Pete on the back. “You? Eat less? Hey, we can't be what we're not, and you're a fat tub of lard! And you always will be! So eat up! A diet, that's rich...” Pete looked down at his plate sadly, and reached for a lone chicken breast. “Now then, back to the important stuff – me! What did they say about me?”

Therein came the second reason – Mortimer had no friends, and Pete was the closest one he could order to be one. He was of the belief that being a ruler meant instant love, no matter what he did. Pete decided that he was just delaying the inevitable. “They were complaining about the chicken feed tax.” Clarabelle hadn't looked clearly enough when she was ranting about Mortimer's unfairness, unfortunately.

Mortimer's jovial expression turned sour, and the bone in his hand snapped. “They dared to complain about me? Those ingrates! If they worked harder, they could be rich! What do they expect me to do, live like them? Like a commoner?” He spat every question out and Pete knew well enough not to answer. “I'm the King! I'm supposed to have the riches! I give them inspiration so they can be more like me! They should grovel at my feet and apologize! Who was it? Who dared?!”

Pete slurped green pea soup. “Aw, it was just some stupid farm maid and the stable hand's sister.”

“The stable hand's sister?” Mortimer repeated, aghast that someone working for him would be related to someone so disrespectful – but then the gears in his head turned. “The stable hand's sister?” he said once more, now thoughtful and introspective. “I've seen that girl come by to give him lunch...” And on other occasions – he thought – he wasn't clear on it, yet he knew he had seen her before. “She's a pretty thing, isn't she?”

“I guess.” Pete shrugged. He preferred taller woman, ones with more punch. “But man, you should've heard the stable hand talk about her today! He said...” Remembering it now made him guffaw, his belly bouncing. “He said the girl can spin straw into gold! Can you believe it?” He laughed louder, pounding a fist on the table.

But Mortimer didn't laugh, walking to a nearby window and looking down at the filthy, grimy peasants that were lucky to have him as a ruler. They should've been happy to do whatever he wanted. He was the King, he inherited love. He inherited many things – including some dirty tricks he had locked away in his mind. This wasn't his father's kingdom, it was Mortimer's, all Mortimer's, and they needed to learn a lesson. Right on time, Minnie was heading to the stables to deliver lunch and reluctantly give the bad news about the missing eggs. She was indeed a pretty thing.

And something about her prettiness made him angry. Made him yearn. Made him want revenge.

Mortimer smiled. “Stranger things have happened, Pete.”

And stranger things would keep happening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the seamstress is given an impossible task, all hope seems lost. Help comes from the most unusual of places - but will she be able to remember it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, big thanks to my amazing editors, Drucilla and Blueshifted!
> 
> Are you any closer to solving the mystery or just as confused as ever? I'm pleased either way.

The sun was starting to set, but still far from when anyone could say night had truly fallen. Donald returned home to find his sister working on Clarabelle's dress, and when she asked how his day had been, he skipped over the part where he told Pete an outlandish lie. The two began to set up dinner, with Donald loudly grumbling how much hungrier they'd be the next few days because someone felt a complete stranger deserved to eat more than her own big brother. Minnie apologized but she wasn't entirely sorry, for she was happy that someone less fortunate than her had been helped. Donald huffed, but in the end all he could do was continue grumbling. Asking Minnie to change her kind nature was like asking her to change her black fur, both an impossibility. It was a wonderful, and at times aggravating, part of her.

And if it weren't for the lack of eggs, Minnie would have forgotten the incident altogether. She could recall the rest of the day perfectly, but those few minutes with Clarabelle were getting dimmer by the hour. She couldn't recall the color of the old man's cloak, nor the sound of his voice, nor even if he'd said more than two words to her. It was rather frightening the more she thought about it, or at least the more she tried to think about it. She was about to ask Donald's advice about this, when a knock sounded at the front door.

Minnie turned to the door, surprised. It wasn't entirely too late to have a sewing situation that required her steady hand, but customers had been so few and far between that it was still a shock. “My goodness. Do you think it's Clarabelle picking up her dress already?”

Donald lightly gave his sister a shove on the shoulders. “Maybe it's the old guy and he wants our bread, our milk, and your hand in marriage.” Minnie gave him an annoyed look, but Donald grinned, mentally promising this would be the last of the teasing. Minnie headed for the door, and Donald decided to follow in case it really was Clarabelle – maybe he could finagle more eggs from her.

But when Minnie opened the door, Clarabelle wasn't on the other side. Instead, there stood Pete in all of his large, metal glory, peering down at the siblings. Donald squinted. “What, are you door-to-door bullying now?”

“Donald, please,” Minnie lightly chastised, before properly curtsying. “Good evening, Captain Pete. It's an honor to have you here. What can I do for you?” She gave another classically sweet smile that melted many cold hearts.

It might've melted Pete's too, but his job meant more to him than a warm heart. Still, having someone give him real respect made him hesitate before he spoke. “You might wanna ask your big brother about that,” he said before jabbing a thumb behind him. “I'm here to announce the King, and to get you started on your task.”

Donald instantly broke out in a cold sweat while Minnie blinked rapidly. As Pete went on to announce Mortimer, which involved a short speech about his lineage and the power he had, Minnie slowly looked at Donald, her incredulous expression turning to one of suspicion, then anger. Donald refused to meet her eyes. With white feathers, it was difficult to tell he was paling, but he was. Surely this was about something else. Surely Pete hadn't believed that stupid fib. Surely life didn't hate him that much.

When Pete finished, he clapped once. “Okay, I'll be right back, don't move a muscle!” He then shuffled off to the carriage that both siblings could see now, lavishly adorned with jewels and gold, and half a dozen guards surrounding it. As Pete began to pull something out of the carriage, Minnie took a deep breath.

“Donald.”

“Yes, Minnie?”

“You lied, didn't you?”

“...Yes, Minnie.”

To add to Donald's horror and Minnie's confusion, Pete was carrying back a large bale of straw, and walking behind him was the grand King himself. He was smiling brightly, arching his back to give off an air of superiority that only served to give the impression that he had a spine injury. The guardsmen began to surround the house, thick armor hiding reluctant faces. Pete roughly shoved his way into the house, splitting up the duo. “Comin' through!” He only stopped once he was in what he assumed was Minnie's room, dropping the hay in front of the bed.

Minnie scrambled to Donald's side, yanking him by the collar. “What. Did. You. Dooo?”

“I can explain!” Donald flailed, but now the King was entering the house, and on some odd instinct, he drew Minnie close and behind him, protecting her. He swallowed hard. “Uh, Your Highness! This is an honor! A very, very weird honor.”

Mortimer looked down upon his subjects, one arm holding the other as he stroked his bare chin. His father had constantly done the same action whenever he was about to give an order, but the previous king had a beard, and Mortimer didn't, which made this action look less intimidating and more silly. The stable hand he barely recognized, having only a passing notion of what each servant looked like. But the girl he knew, he absolutely knew her, though he couldn't say why he knew her more than he knew the brother. By all logic, he would have seen her less than he saw Donald.

She was even prettier close up, with big beautiful eyes and pert lips and a delicate figure he wanted to seize with his own hands. Minnie stayed close to Donald, holding a fistful of his shirt, trying to think positively about the situation. Her smile was shaky, but genuine, hoping to reach a peaceful conclusion. She was the very image of sweetness – and the sight of her made Mortimer furious. He didn't know why. He didn't much care.

“So, this is the famous weaver of Haulm!” Mortimer suddenly spoke with a loud shout, making the siblings jump. “I had no idea we had someone so amazingly talented in our land all this time! Why, I would think someone with your abilities would be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Minnie's smile became stronger – perhaps this was just his odd way of asking for his royal robes to be resewn. “Oh, why thank you, Your Highness,” she cheerfully chirped. “I just do my best, that's all.”

“And humble, too!” Mortimer laughed, but it was dry. “What a sweetheart. Which makes me wonder why you would keep such a big secret all to yourself? Especially from your ruler?”

“Secret?” Minnie repeated, looking at Donald for assistance. Donald was the very image of a man wishing for death. “I...don't know what you mean. Captain Pete said it had something to do with my big brother?”

“She calls me Captain,” Pete pointed out, now standing behind Mortimer meekly.

“And I call you tubbo, now zip it.” Mortimer snapped his fingers, and Pete hung his head. “Anyway, Donald, was it? He couldn't help but boast that you, Minnie, enchanted seamstress, could spin straw into gold!”

Minnie was about to tell Mortimer that insulting anyone in such a cruel manner was uncalled for, but the enormous lie that was spoken threw her off. Again, she looked at Donald for a decent explanation, and he rubbed the back of his neck, muttering apologies under his breath. She inhaled deeply through her nose, letting go of Donald's shirt and stepping in front of him. “Please, let me apologize for my brother.” she began, a hand on her chest. “He has a bad habit of telling tiny fibs to make himself feel better. I've told him time and again, and again and _again_ -” Donald winced, “-but perhaps now this embarrassment will make him stop for good.” That's what Minnie understood this visit to be, a public humiliation and nothing more. She then gracefully lowered her head, and Donald followed suit. “Please forgive us for taking time out of your busy duties for this nonsense.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mortimer replied in a far too calm manner. “That is disappointing. I'd hate to send you both to the dungeon.”

The siblings stood up so fast that Pete could've sworn he heard their backs popping, and definitely did hear them both yelling “What?!”

“Well, you see,” Mortimer began, drawing an arm around Pete's neck and yanking him into the conversation. “Your brother told this interesting fact to Captain fat-for-brains here.”

“Aw, _c'mon_...” Pete groaned, and now even Donald was beginning to feel sorry for him. It certainly explained one or two things.

“Now, Pete here is my direct line to the Kingdom,” Mortimer continued, ignoring Pete's wounded feelings. “You could say he is my stand-in! So when someone lies to him, that's the same thing as lying to me! And lying to me is treason. And the punishment for treason is imprisonment. You got all that?”

Minnie opened her mouth, but all that came out was a stunned, “But... but...” The sight of her body trembling in fear gave Mortimer unusual pleasure.

“Now you just wait a darn minute!” Donald snapped, fists balling and pushing himself directly in front of Mortimer. “I tell one stupid fib that anyone with half a brain can tell wasn't true, and you want to throw us both behind bars? That crown must be on too tight!” Maybe, just maybe, he could have stood some punishment for his hand in this, but Minnie wasn't going to suffer for his sins, not if Donald had any say about it.

Mortimer waved his hand. “Hey hey, no need to get your feathers wrinkled! No one has to go to the dungeon... if your lie is the truth. Why do you think I brought down this straw?”

“I brought it,” Pete said quietly.

Minnie turned to look at the now haunting square of straw that sat in her room. “You...you want me to...to spin that into gold?” Her voice was weak, breaking with each word. A part of her wanted to be mad with Donald, but she was far too overcome with terror. There was no way her brother would've foreseen this madness. “But that's...how can I...?”

“Not my problem!” Mortimer shoved Pete away, satisfied. “You've got 'til sun up. If I come back and I don't see gold, you'll both be seeing bars.” His eyes became dark, his face lecherous, fingers tapping against each other as his beady eyes rested on Minnie's trembling figure. “But maybe you and I could figure out a much more fun arrangement. Ha-cha-cha!”

Donald exploded, racing forward with fists drawn. “YOU LAY _A HAND_ ON HER AND I'LL-” But for all of Mortimer's put-downs, Pete was still a loyal soldier, and he lifted Donald by the neck, holding him high in the air, causing Donald to gag. Minnie screamed, and Donald clawed at Pete's hand. Pete closed his eyes, the sight of Donald in such pain causing Pete his own odd agony, and he dropped Donald onto the floor. He landed with a hard thud, gasping for air, and Minnie flew to his side, starting to sob.

Mortimer shrugged as if he was helpless. “Guess that's your choice to make, kiddos! I've got to get going, important King business, you wouldn't understand. Hope your night is golden!” With a little laugh he headed out, but he stopped in the doorway, holding a finger up. “Oh, I almost forgot. In case you were thinking of running away or getting any help from your neighbors, my men have been ordered to make sure no one enters or leaves this place. Toodles!” With a blown kiss, he walked out, and Pete slowly followed suit, the door closing quietly behind him.

Donald managed to sit up, his throat aching, but the sight of his crying sister hurt far worse. It nearly brought tears to his eyes, and he drew her into a tight hug. “Oh, Minnie,” he moaned, resting his head on top of hers. “I'm so sorry... I didn't mean for this to happen! I just...I just wanted Pete to shut up, to make us sound amazing...”

Minnie sobbed into Donald's chest, more frightened and devastated than she ever knew she was capable of. “W-what are we going to do?” she asked between hiccups, and even knowing he couldn't answer she asked it again, desperate making her loud. “What are we going to do?!”

“I... I'll find some way out for you.” But even as Donald pushed the words out, he couldn't think of a way to help her, much less himself. Were those really the only options? Live in the dungeons for who knew how long, or let his baby sister be preyed upon by a petty tyrant? He wished he could apologize to Daisy for letting herself get caught up with such a worthless man, to his parents for failing to take care of his sister, and to himself, for hating himself so much that he could make such lies.

The two of them stayed like that for what felt like eons, crying and wallowing in pity. It was night when they finally stood up, quietly deciding they could at least eat their last meal together, even if it was in silence. Donald then retreated to his room, trying to think if he could bring any possessions with him, and then laying down in bed, curling up to a restless sleep.

Minnie retreated to her room and sat in front of the simple block of straw, hugging her knees. Every time she felt she had stopped crying, another awful thought would emerge. Was she allowed to say goodbye to her friends, like Clarabelle? Would she ever sew again? Could she swallow her disgust and stay by the King's side – but that made her want to wretch and give up her dinner. It was more than just revulsion at the King, it was that same mental scream that wouldn't allow her to even consider holding another man's hand. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with this kingdom? Why had everything gotten so awful? Surely it couldn't have been this way forever. Wasn't there a time of peace and happiness?

Just then, she heard a faint sound at her window – a pebble hitting the glass.

Then it happened again.

When it came the third time, Minnie realized it wasn't the wind or her imagination. She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and began to stand up, puzzled. Was it the guards? Maybe they were taking pity on her and letting her escape! She flew to the window, and opened it.

There in the darkness stood the old man from the market, with the same cloak – oh, it'd been black, now she remembered – and the same staff and the same weary look about him. Two of the nearby guards were laying on the grass, snoring loudly. Minnie wasn't quite sure what to make of this scene, and could only think of one thing to say. “...Hello?”

“Hello,” said the old man, sounding far more chipper than the last time they met. “I was stopping by to see how you were doing. I convinced these weary fellows to take a nap.” There was clear amusement in his voice, as if he had said a joke only he would get.

“Oh. Well.” The absurdity of the situation put a pause on Minnie's fear, though her genuine kindness shined on. “If you need something to eat, we still have plenty, but we've also got a... very bad situation going on.”

“I figured.” The old man nodded once. “Not to worry, though. I'm here to repay your kindness.”

“You don't need to worry about that.” Minnie pulled back from the window. “Please, you should get going before the other guards come here and force you along!” She turned around, ready to gesture to the straw. “The King is making us do an... impossible...task?” Minnie's sentence had begun to trail off because now the old man was standing in the room, on the other side of the stack of straw. She blinked once, then twice, then looked back outside just to make sure, and nope, he wasn't outside. He was definitely inside, with her, somehow. “Huh?”

“I'm guessing this isn't a new fad in home décor.” The old man poked the straw with his staff, clicking his tongue.

“I... uh.. n-no, the King...” Minnie was still looking back and forth between the outside and the inside, trying and failing to understand how he could have gotten inside so quickly. It was like magic, which was silly, since there was no such thing. She'd long since outgrown those kind of beliefs. “My big brother told a silly lie, that I could spin straw into gold. Now the King says either I actually do it, or we go into the dungeons for being traitors. Or...” She didn't want to say the other wretched option, wringing her hands tightly.

“His pettiness never ceases to amaze me.” The old man straightened up as best he could. “As I said, I am here to repay your kindness.”

Minnie lifted her head. “How?”

The old man lifted his staff, but then he suddenly slammed it down with a strength Minnie wouldn't have guessed him capable of. The second the staff hit the floor, golden light flooded the room, and swirling colors wrapped around the old man, melting the cloak, the hump, the gray tight skin on his hands. Now this was a young man, perhaps no older than Donald, with dark black fur and dazzling blue eyes, and a smile that never stopped being charming. As the light began to fade, Minnie – who had been so stunned she lost her footing and wound up sitting on her bed – could see that he was wearing rich fabrics of red and yellow, with the royal insignia of the kingdom on his chest, complete with a flowing cape that rolled past his feet. Even his staff had changed, now made of steel and rubies, with a large red one sitting atop. The show had ended, and the world was silent again, with neither mouse saying a word. The old man – the young man – was grinning, enjoying the shock on Minnie's face. “Sorry, had to do a quick costume change first,” he chirped, with his new voice matching his new face, peaceful and boyish with a hint of the country. “My power is a lot stronger when I ain't in disguise. But I can't stay this way for too long either.”

Minnie said nothing because what could she say? Where could she even begin? She pushed her fingernails into her palm to see if this was a dream, and it wasn't. Shakily, she began to place her feet back on the floor, toes first, her heart racing. The longer she stared at him, the more conflict built up in her mind. Half of her wanted to run away, or for him to leave, because he didn't belong here, he couldn't possibly exist, there was something about him that defied existence – but the other half of her wanted to run into his arms and never let him go, to gaze into those endless ocean eyes and hear his voice say every word that had ever been written. These opposites created a dizzying effect, and she felt like she was going to lose her balance – and then his arm was around her waist, keeping her steady.

“Easy there!” The boy said as he caught her, helping her regain her balance. “I know, I know, it's not a good feelin' right now. But I won't be long, I promise.” His touch was warm, soft, and familiar.

Minnie's cheeks flushed red, having never been in such close contact with a boy that wasn't related. He was polite, and funny, and very handsome. If such a boy had always lived in the village, she could see herself going after him instead of waiting for him to come around. For once, her mind didn't have that screaming shut-down reaction to such a thought. Instead, the happier side of her mind had started to dominate, and she could see herself holding hands with him, and – and for goodness sake, she just met him today! Her embarrassment built up, making her blush even deeper, and the boy chuckled at her endearing reaction. “I, um, that is...” Minnie stammered, not exactly fighting the hold he had on her, and when had her hands touched his chest? “W-who are you?”

The enchantment of the moment crumbled, and the boy's earnest smile began to break apart, his face falling. Minnie thought perhaps she had insulted him, yet how could she have, when they'd never met before? The boy reluctantly began to pull his arm away, facing the straw. “I guess, for now... Let's say I'm a wandering magician.”

Oh, right, hadn't that been an important point? “A magician!” Minnie exclaimed, still amazed even though she'd seen his transformation with her own eyes. “Magic is real? I thought it was all made-up, like a fairy tale! That's amazing!” She even applauded to make up for not doing so earlier. Who knew the limits of something you used to think was impossible? “The Kingdom could really use help like that! Think of all the good you could do for everyone!”

The boy rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off the compliments. “Magic isn't the solution to everything. In fact, it can make some things worse.” He plucked a strand of straw and rubbed it between his fingers. “You should never rely wholly on any one thing...or any one person. There will be times when the only person capable of making a change is you.” He glanced at her.

Minnie thought it sounded wise, but also had no idea what he was referring to. “So... you can't help me?”

“Oh, I never said that,” the boy pointed out. “But this is payment. A turn for a turn, a kindness for a kindness. If you ever find yourself in trouble like this again, I won't help you for free.”

Minnie looked down, but then up, nodding. “Yes, that makes sense.” No hesitance, no pausing, it was simple as that. A kindness for a kindness – it made the most sense. Although she sincerely doubted something like this would ever happen twice over. Donald would never put their lives in danger for the sake of his own fragile ego again. But then she remembered - “You're really going to do this for a couple of eggs?”

“A kindness for a kindness,” said the boy, smiling. He then laid his palm flat, the straw strand laying there in his hand. He took a deep breath, and then blew it away – and then all of the strands of straw began to fly in the air in a circular shape, taking on the form of a miniature tornado. Minnie yelped, and hid behind the boy, but he never took his eye off the storm of straw. It flew faster and faster until it was a blinding mix of brown and yellow, and Minnie wound up shutting her eyes until the noise was gone. She then slowly opened her eyes.

The bale of straw was gone, and in its place stood four rows of perfectly stacked gold bars. Four across, four in each row, four – she skipped doing the math, rushing over to touch and make sure it was real, even though she'd never actually seen a gold bar in her life. It was the sort of impossible rich thing you heard people talk over but thought you'd never see in your life, like a pure diamond. It was cold to the touch, and while they were heavy, she could still lift one into her hands. Minnie gaped. “It's... it's real gold! You turned it all into gold!”

“Sure did,” said the boy, as if all he'd done was change a couple of bed sheets. 

“This is amazing!” Minnie whipped around, her eyes starry, in awe that she was in the company of such an astounding person. “You're amazing! I can't believe it – you must be the most amazing person in the whole wide world!”

“Aw, shucks.” He kept trying to play it off as nothing but there was clear pride in his smirk, perhaps more pleased that she was the one praising him instead of the praise itself. “I suppose it's all right.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” This time Minnie didn't fight her instincts and lunged at the boy, throwing her arms around him and still thanking him over and over for saving her and Donald's life. The boy was thrown off by how energetic her hug was, almost losing his balance and tipping over.

Maybe the boy didn't realize exactly how appreciative Minnie would be. “Uh, ah, gee, Minnie! You could make a fella get a swelled head!” Dang it, he'd tried to build up a cool mystical aura and now he was getting flummoxed. “I, uh, it's fine, really, you don't have to-”

“Thaaank youuu!” She'd even begun to cry, she was so deliriously happy, and even though he'd said he was repaying her kindness several times by now, she felt she owed him the whole world and she'd give it if she was able. She didn't even care that he'd somehow known her name without her ever saying it – a point she'd recall later when the sun was rising. “Oooh, thank you mister amazing magician sir!”

“Uh.” Now the boy had lost all of his fanciful speeches, and it was his turn for his cheeks to resemble red apples. “Uhhh...” He was helpless putty in her arms, especially now that she was nuzzling her cheek to his own as she continued to shout gratitude, and there went the feeling in his legs, and there went his tail going waggity-waggity-wag. He was starting to forget that he promised he wouldn't be long. Then came what could've been the final nail in the coffin – Minnie pressed a big, loving, indebted kiss to his cheek.

The boy had two choices at this point – throw all of his planning out the window and doom the kingdom, and his own existence, in order to get another kiss, or find what remained of his strength and get out of the house on time like he originally designed. Keep in mind this was a difficult choice to make, but he finally chose the latter, yanking Minnie off his shoulders and spinning around until his palm hit the wall so he could catch his breath. “Geez, Minnie!” He exhaled, his heart and mind reeling. “You make a fella just wanna stay here forever... and I had a whole nice speech planned and everythin', now I can't remember a word, I was gunna have a really neat goodbye!” He then slapped his cheeks a few times, waking up to reality. He cleared his throat. “I need to leave before Mortimer comes back.”

“Do you have to go?” Minnie asked, and tried to take his hand. But his hand found hers first, and he did the odd move again, pressing a single thumb into her palm, and again her immediate reaction was to close her hand around it even though she didn't know why. She looked at him.

“Yes, I do,” he said softly. “But if you need me again... I'll come back. And you'll have to do me a kindness, before I can repay it.” He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles – and then, in one blink, he was gone. Minnie gasped, and looked around as if he would suddenly pop up, but he was well and truly gone. Her eyes rested on the gold bars, trying to process everything that had happened and barely able to. Her heart ached, and she wanted to cry. The house felt emptier now, like it was missing an integral member.

Her eyes moved slowly, seeing that all the straw was gone, even the usual strands that had been left by Donald – Donald! _Donald!_ Minnie had to tell him! She ran for his bedroom, suddenly understanding how odd it had been that Donald never woke up during the entire bizarre encounter. Had it been part of the magic? Were the guards asleep because of magic too? It didn't matter now, as she throw open Donald's door and began to pull on his arm. “Donald Donald Donald!” She yelled frantically, her words smashing together and becoming incomprehensible. “Youhavetogetupthere'smagicandgoldandblueeyesandDONAAAALLLLD!”

It was certainly the least gentle way Donald had ever been woken up, and he was so stunned that he lay in bed, eyes open, as his little sister continued pulling him along. “What?”

“You – you have to – just get into my room!” Minnie insisted, not letting him get dressed. Donald kept trying to ask what Minnie was saying, but he wound up being led into her room. His questions abruptly stopped when he saw the stack of gold, and his beak dropped. Only then did Minnie think to close the window, knowing more shouting was to come.

Donald tentatively approached the gold bars, lifting one up to check it just as Minnie had. He rapped his knuckles against it, even licked it, mostly because he assumed that was what one did to check for authenticity. Once he had wholly confirmed it was the real deal, he faced his sister. “Minnie... did you really...?”

“It wasn't me!” Minnie pointed at the window, ready to begin her unbelievable tale. “It was – it was the magic man!” Funny, he'd never given her a name. “It was the old man from the market, except he wasn't an old man, it was a disguise! And he came into my room and turned the straw into gold, just like that!” She snapped her fingers.

Donald, being a protective older brother, was quick to jump on a less important tangent. “Wait, what do you mean he came into your room? You just let a random man into your bedroom?”

“That's hardly the point!” Minnie decided to leave out all the touches and hugs and kisses.

“I think it's a pretty huge point! Don't let strange men into your bedroom!”

“I didn't let him, he just... magic'd his way in there.”

“THAT'S EVEN WORSE!” Donald was about to put a death warrant on the pervert who slid into his innocent baby sister's bedroom before Minnie grabbed him by the beak and snapped it shut.

“Donald,” she said evenly, “We have the gold, we're going to give it to the King, and then you're never going to tell another lie like that again. Understand?”

Donald couldn't reply with his beak trapped, so he gave a singular thumbs-up. Minnie released him, and then began to tell story again, this time with the proper details – or what details she could remember. Even though it hadn't been so long ago, now she was struggling to recall what types of jewels were on his staff, or the color of his robes. Donald kept wanting to deny it, kept wanting to say none of that could've happened, but it would've been pretty silly to do that when the evidence that said otherwise was glittering in the room. If there was a magic man, where had he been all this time? Why had he only shown up now? Why was he only helping Minnie and Donald?

Minnie continued to praise the stranger, eternally grateful that fate had been so kind, but Donald's face remained dark. He doubted destiny felt like tossing them a bone. Something bigger was afoot, and he was worried what it meant for their future. He looked at his reflection in one gold bar. If this magic man could make gold so easily, why distribute that power so readily? Why not become rich and powerful, or why not become King yourself?

_Why not become King yourself?_

Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed Donald behind his eye, and he staggered, needing to lean on the stack of gold for support. Minnie called his name, holding his arm, asking what was wrong and what she could do. Donald held his face, unable to understand it, but knowing that singular sentence was important.

“Why not...” he whispered, “... become King yourself?”

“Donald?” Minnie asked, touching his cheek.

“Did I... Did I ever... say that to someone?” Donald had felt he had, once, long ago, but where? When? To who? Why? Yet it lingered on his tongue, these powerful words that had once changed fate.

Minnie tilted her head. “Who would you say such a thing to? Who else could've become King except Mortimer? He was an only child, and it's not like anyone here knows how to run a kingdom.” She helplessly shrugged.

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Donald tried to stand up straight. “I don't know what I was thinking.” And soon he would forget he had ever said it. But in this moment he was frightened of things beyond his control, of magic and memories and being unable to trust himself, unlike his adorable sister who had faith in everyone and everything. He was afraid for her, afraid of what would come in the morning, and he put his arm around Minnie's shoulders, protectively keeping her close. She didn't complain, leaning on him and watching the gold.

Neither of them got any more sleep that night. They stayed in the room, staring at what shouldn't be, and thinking of more impossible things.

The sun rose, casting a golden glow upon the kingdom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the King destroys any magical means that could be against him, Minnie and Donald find that earning their freedom may have cost them their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, big thanks to my amazing editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!
> 
> Would you believe I thought up certain elements of this story mere days before I had to write them? Nothing gets a fanfic flowing like immense pressure |D
> 
> Do you think you know what happened? Keep your theories close, because next chapter all will be revealed! ... Well, almost.

Early the next morning, King Mortimer skipped breakfast and made a solitary trip towards his father's bedroom. Technically it was his bedroom now, but lying in the bed where a dead man once did didn't sit well with him. Once his father had died, he had the room locked, seeing no purpose to it anymore. But there was a secret within the room, and Mortimer glanced around the long, stretching hallway to make sure he was alone. Even though he made the choice to strip the castle of certain paintings and other extra oddities, the emptiness bothered him like bugs on his skin. Surely one day it wouldn't be like this. He'd marry a beautiful woman and have a dozen children, each one who would adore their father like the kingdom adored him – like they were supposed to adore him.

Yet he was in no rush to share his money and his power with any potential queen. Perhaps he could make some sort of law where his wife would have no power at all. He was the King, he could do whatever he pleased. That's what his father had always said – that royalty had no limits. Mortimer slipped a key out of his pants and twisted it underneath the doorknob, a single click letting him know it was open. He placed a hand on the door, but didn't go inside right away. Suddenly he was a little boy, listening in to whatever his father was muttering about on the inside, until his weight made the door push open. The King looked up from his desk, blinking at the disturbance, before smiling wide and opening his arms. The little boy rushed in to take the hug – except his father's arms were too wide, as if he was ready to hold more than one person - 

A hard headache stabbed Mortimer's brain, and he rubbed his temples in a futile effort to dismiss it. These headaches were becoming more intense and more frequently lately, and if he cared one iota about his people, he might've learned he wasn't the only one suffering from seemingly random headaches. He shook his head, dismissing the sentimentality of the moment. He wasn't here to reminisce. As if to show that he wouldn't be held back by his father's love, Mortimer kicked the door open instead of merely pushing it in. Dust and cobwebs had made their home here, causing Mortimer to sneeze, but the room still had the radiant decadence of a once proud king. As Mortimer looked inside, he wondered how much of his father and mother's possessions he could sell. He didn't remember his mother very well. She had died when he was far too young, of...due to...something or other. It didn't matter.

What did matter was one evening when Mortimer was ten perhaps, yes that seemed about right, and the King pulled Mortimer into his room about an important matter. The son would be King one day, and so needed to know a family secret, one only to be used in the most dire of emergencies. The King had then pulled back the red rug, as the Mortimer of the present did now, revealing a small hidden door in the floorboards. This too had a lock, the same one on the door to the room, and Mortimer knelt down to unlock it. The tiny door creaked on its hinges, and there within the floor lay the biggest secret of the Kingdom of Haulm.

To anyone who hadn't been a part of that father-son secret meeting, they would have assumed it was merely an old white book with the gold lettering of a language that had died long ago. It weighed as much as a brick, with hundreds of yellow, tattered pages. Mortimer grunted as he pulled it up and placed it on the bed, trying to remember his lessons from ages past. There were some he couldn't recall anymore, but he knew the most important ones – the spells that would change a person.

 _Spells, magic, enchantment,_ these were the kinds of words that ten year old Mortimer had started to believe didn't exist outside of fairy tales and spooky stories in the dark, but the King had revealed they were true. Long ago, the first King of Haulm had befriended a kindly wizard, and offered this mystical spell book as a sign of their union. But the King knew that such power would lead even the purest man into dark temptations, and so made his children swear they would only use the spells if the kingdom was in great peril. Many generations had passed, and there had never been a peril great enough to justify using any of the spells here. So what was Mortimer's big emergency?

“No love spells?” he growled to the air, angrily flipping through the pages. “You're telling me I can cure famine, disease, even change the weather, but I can't _make_ people like me? Then what's the point?!” He slammed the book closed, grinding his teeth. His father had told him that a royal would always be adored, would always be loved, so what was with these ungrateful villagers? You were supposed to love the people better than you! His father had praised Mortimer non-stop ever since he was born, so obviously Mortimer was worthy - 

No, his father hadn't praised Mortimer non-stop ever since he was born. That had only started after his mother died of... Well what did it matter? Why would he only start treating Mortimer as if he was perfection after she died? The headache was coming back in full swing, and Mortimer sighed heavily. What a waste of time. He'd have to find some other way to make the villagers love him – while still taking their money and lording his power over them. He'd think much better once he got out of this dusty room and away from this dusty book.

Mortimer rubbed his nose, but then stopped. The book hadn't made him sneeze, and it hadn't been dusty. Slowly, he lowered his eyes back to the book's cover. It was clear no one had touched it in a while, but there hadn't been enough time for dust to build. Which meant someone had been here, which meant someone might have used it. But that was impossible, only Mortimer knew it was there! His heart began to race and he flipped through the book again, trying to find signs that someone else had been there. Even though they couldn't have been.

Yet one page had a flapped corner, the sign of continuous wear. Mortimer read the page, and then balked. Someone had tried to use _this_ spell? It didn't look very difficult – the words were easy to say, it'd take less than a week to gather the necessary ingredients, and the way to reverse it was one action. Yet the spell itself had no redeeming qualities about it, and Mortimer couldn't fathom ever needing it. Nor could he imagine someone else in the kingdom even wanting this kind of spell. Maybe someone had tried and failed – served them right for meddling in his affairs. Mortimer closed the book, exhaling in relief. Nothing had come close to helping him, but it also appeared nothing had affected his rule. Still, if someone had gotten in before, they could get in again, if Mortimer's guardsmen were so utterly useless.

Mortimer held the book under one arm, and didn't bother to hide the trap door. He left the room, locking the door behind him and headed down the hallway. It was almost time to visit the stupid stable hand and his equally stupid sister, and see if she preferred bars over embraces. But before he made the trip, he had one last chore to do. On his way, he passed the only other locked room in the castle, but kept right on walking. Out of all the creepiness in the castle, that one room weirded him out the most. Even though he had gotten rid of everything inside it, the room had an eerie presence. Maybe one day he should seal it away with bricks. A duty for another day.

The fireplace was still burning within the dining room, and Mortimer stood in front of it now, watching the dancing flames. It was going strong, and was about to have more kindling. Mortimer held up the book, thinking about whoever could have used that spell. Whoever that fool was, it was their own fault for not taking it with them, because they were about to lose the way to reverse the spell. If it wasn't useful to Mortimer, then it didn't deserve to exist at all. He wouldn't have handed it down to his children either, because surely there was no one better deserving of the tome than Mortimer himself. It was his power, his choice, and if it wouldn't serve him the exact way he wanted it to, then nobody would have it. It was the same way he ruled the village – anything useful belonged to him, and anything not useful deserved to be destroyed. Mortimer's world was the only world that mattered. Then he felt his father's hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a loving hug, telling his son how wonderful he was, how happy he was to have Mortimer in his life, and how everyone would love him the way his father did.

And for reasons Mortimer could no longer remember, this made him _furious_. His blood boiled, his fingers dug into the book, and his body shook with rage, and he began to yell. “If you _really_ loved me, you wouldn't have...wouldn't have...” But he didn't know.

The headache came back with thunder, and Mortimer snarled, throwing the book into the flames. He leaned on the wall, catching his breath. What had he been about to say? His father loved him, of course he did, everyone did, Mortimer was the King and everyone loved the King. If they didn't, they would pay. By imprisonment or pain or blood, they would pay.

“Uhhh... you doin' all right there, Your Highness?”

Mortimer looked up to see Pete blinking in the doorway, having come to collect the King for his visit to the stable hand. His fingers nervously twisted against one another.

Mortimer hesitated. “How much did you hear?”

“None of it.” Which was an obvious lie, and he'd also seen Mortimer throw something or other in the fire, but they were both content with this fib. “Should we get goin'?”

“Yes...yes, let's be on our way.” Mortimer pushed himself off the wall, collecting himself. “I need a pick-me-up.” And he quickly thought of one. “Say, Pete, did I ever tell you that you're like a star?”

Pete should have known better than to have fallen for it, but he was flattered. “Aw, gee, am I really?”

“Yeah – you're a huge ball of gas that everyone can't help but stare at!” Mortimer guffawed at what he thought was terribly witty, slapping Pete on the back as he walked out. “Oh, do away with the glum face, it's just a joke!”

Pete sadly but loyally followed. “How's it a joke if you're the only one who laughs?”

“Because my laughter is the only one that matters! C'mon, everyone knows you're like a real saint... A Saint Bernard!” He laughed uproariously again, putting all the troubling matters out of his mind. The pages burned away, leaving no way for anyone to know what had ever been written there.

Except perhaps the one who wrote them.

~*~

When Mortimer had first started burning and destroying choice items from his home, people had come to the castle and begged him to do otherwise. If there was a spare bed, why not give it to someone who needed it? Even broken furniture had its purpose for good kindling. But as far as Mortimer was concerned, they didn't deserve his trash, for even his trash was above his people. Yet much like how Mortimer left before making sure the book was wholly burnt, he never stuck around to completely ensure all the tossed-away items were, in fact, tossed-away. Some of the more kindhearted guardsmen managed to sneak away with what remained, and if they found no need for it themselves they sold it discreetly.

Horace Horsecollar's back was frail, but his pride was great and his love for his wife was greater. He wouldn't see a doctor about his aches if it meant more food on the table for her, and he was sure he could bear any pain if it meant her happiness. Of course he never told her these things, hiding it under stubbornness and useless male dignity. Telling womenfolk your true feelings wasn't manly, so he'd been taught. Until his back made it impossible, he had worked as a guardsman at the castle. The brotherhood of armor was still very strong, and instead of bargaining for payment, they were happy to give away what they could fetch from the King's tantrums. Horace found it amusing that within the kingdom, many loved one another like this, but no one loved the man who demanded it the most.

On this bright and early morning, the guardsmen offered a small batch of robes that Mortimer wanted burned days ago. It was fine quality, but far too small for Mortimer. It would have been easy to say it belonged to Mortimer himself when he was a young lad – but they knew that Mortimer would never destroy anything that belonged to him. So where had these robes come from? Who did they belong to? Well it wasn't Horace's business, that was for sure. He decided he could sell them to Minnie, the amazing seamstress. Surely someone in her line of work could use such great material. He didn't tell Clarabelle, he never told her about these pitiful gifts – she'd call it stealing, the stubborn old fool. How he loved her so.

While his wife tended to the chickens, Horace left the farmhouse and headed towards the household of Donald and Minnie. He liked the siblings, just about everyone did, and he wished them well. But his back was already giving him trouble, and he had to stop every now and then to reel in the agony. Yet he would continue onward, only stopping for a solid five minutes when he found the crooked tree that was near the siblings' house. It was a funny landmark, this tree, the only tree to be found in miles as all the others had been cut down. It was bent at an odd angle, as if something strong and huge had smashed into it. Yet whenever Minnie and Donald were asked about it, they merely shrugged. Yes, they did remember a time when the tree was normal, but they couldn't tell you when or why it was like that now.

Horace tried not to think about it, it was going to give him a headache – he'd been getting a lot of those lately, and so had Clarabelle, and so had many in the village. Truthfully this frightened Horace, because sometimes the headaches would get so bad, Clarabelle couldn't get out of bed, and he had heard similar tales within the kingdom, of bodies collapsing and fits of torment making it unthinkable to work. If this kept up, would anyone in the village be able to do anything? Why had it started? Would it ever stop? Could you die from a headache?

His pessimism was thankfully and surprisingly interrupted when he heard the whinny of horses and the beating of their hooves on the worn-out path to the house. Horace slid behind the tree to hide, curious why the royal carriage was making its way over. He spotted familiar faces around the house – some of them hastily waking up from a deep, confusing slumber – and frowned as he saw the arrogant King step out with his huge lackey. Horace couldn't hear everything, but the King was boasting about what happens to liars, and when Pete tried to join in, he was insulted, and then they got around to opening the door and going inside.

There was silence for a good, solid minute. Two of the guardsmen, worried about the lack of noise, poked their heads in. Then, there was a great and mighty shout from both the King and the Captain.

_“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!”_

It was enough to knock the two guards over, and nearly knocked over Horace as well. The King suddenly ran out, slammed the door, hysterically talking to himself. “I didn't see that, I couldn't have seen that!” And then he walked right back in, and then he shouted the gigantic exclamation of surprise even louder again. There was lots of shouting, now so much that Horace couldn't tell who was saying what, until the King kicked open the door. “All of you, get in there, carry it! And I counted, I know how much is there, nobody better lose a single bar!” Then the King walked out, carrying an armful of gold bars.

Horace blinked, and then rubbed his eyes. Yes, those were actual solid gold bars in the King's arms, in Pete's arms, in the guardsmen's arms, all of them shoving the bars into the carriage. Once it was all in there, Minnie and Donald walked out, wearing victorious grins. The King whirled around to glare at them, opened his mouth, said nothing, closed his mouth, opened it again, sputtered, but then still said nothing. Donald lightly applauded his sister, who twirled and did a curtsy. Donald seemed to be mouthing, “What can I say except 'you're welcome'!”, ready to go into a song and dance number if Minnie hadn't reeled him in. They were enjoying their win, whatever it was, and finally Mortimer couldn't take it anymore, storming off to the carriage. The gold bars had taken up the seats, so neither Mortimer nor Pete could sit inside. Mortimer kicked Pete and used him as a ladder to climb on top of the carriage, demanding to go home. Pete had no choice but to follow on foot.

The siblings waved them off, and once the royal and all his entourage were gone, Donald and Minnie laughed wildly, hugging each other, relieved it was all over again. Horace leaned on the tree with his arm to his forehead. What had he witnessed? Was the King robbing Minnie and Donald? No, there was no way Donald and Minnie had that much money – had that _kind_ of money – surely they wouldn't be living in such poor conditions if they did! Was it some secret supply they had stashed away for a rainy day? No matter how they came up with it, why did they look so delighted to get rid of it? What in the name of everything sensible was going on here?!

He supposed he could just go up and ask them, but Horace wasn't sure if he could handle the answers. He abandoned the robes, wanting to go back home as soon as possible and pretend he hadn't seen a thing. Of course that'd be impossible, his lips would be flapping the moment he saw his wife. Knowing her, she'd tell everyone she saw and make sure everyone who she hadn't seen learned it too.

As he stumbled back home, he didn't see a young man silently pick up the dropped robes. Not that it would have made much difference. If Horace had seen him, he would have forgotten him in minutes.

~*~

With their imprisonment avoided and their lives restored, Donald and Minnie decided not to go out that day. Donald didn't want to accidentally make things worse by saying anything sillier to the Captain, and Minnie wanted to try and write down everything she could remember about the mystery magician. She figured this way she'd have a better time keeping her memories in tact, but when she finished and read it over, the details she had kept couldn't be envisioned. She had written down that the magician had a dialect, a cute way of speaking, but she couldn't hear it.

Minnie groaned, her head in her hands as she sat at the dinner table, unable to come up with any further descriptions. Every time she tried, a headache would begin to build up. Donald ruffled his hand between Minnie's ears. “Come on, Minnie, you're going to drive yourself nuts! So what if you can't remember one or two things? The important thing is that he got us out of trouble without wanting anything else.”

“It's not just one or two things!” Minnie cried out. “How can anyone forget someone they met hours ago? And he held me so close-” Donald narrowed his eyes, “I mean, um, we just happened to be standing right in front of each other...but I can't remember the color of his clothes! That's not right!”

Overprotective older sibling instinct aside, Donald knew Minnie had a point. He stepped back, scratching his head. “All right, I admit, that's pretty weird. And it's not like you at all. I've never seen you forget a single detail when it comes to your customer's orders. Right down to the patterns and stitches, you always get everything exactly as they asked. So if you of all people can't remember what someone's clothes even looked like...maybe we ought to take you to the doctor.”

Minnie slid out of her chair. “Do you think he can find a way to cure whatever this is? And besides, even just a check-up is going to cost money!”

“If I had to spend every last coin I had to ensure you were fit as a fiddle, don't you doubt for a minute that I'd do it.” Donald lightly poked her nose, making his little sister smile a smidgen. “Come on, we'll see if he can figure it out.”

Minnie hugged Donald tightly. “Thank you...I don't know if I say it often enough, but I should. No one could ask for a better big brother.”

“So you forgive me for lying that you could spin straw into gold?”

“I didn't say _that_.”

Donald playfully shoved his sister off. After counting and collecting their coins, they decided they would have to forgo bread for their next market trip in order to pay for the doctor. They headed out, both of them thinking as positively as they could, and headed into the village. Minnie pondered if perhaps they could stop by Clarabelle's farm – surely she remembered the old man and maybe she could fill in some details Minnie was missing.

Once they were well into the village, they quickly noticed that everyone was staring hard at the siblings. Some with wonder and awe, others with jealousy and suspicion. Donald nervously tugged on the collar of his coat. “Either we got ridiculously more attractive since yesterday, or something's up.”

Minnie had a better idea about the looks, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Do you think they found out about the gold?”

“No way.” Donald raised his hand, “There's absolutely no way anyone knows a single thing about what happened.”

In a new world record of proving Donald wrong, Daisy had suddenly ran out in the path in front of them, grabbing both of them by their hands and shaking them hard. “Donald! Minnie! Is it true you have a secret stash of gold bars in your house? Why didn't you ever tell me? I thought we were almost family!”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Minnie protested, trying to stop the shaking. “We don't have a secret stash of anything! We don't have any secrets at all!”

“Yeah, we're not good at keeping them,” Donald quipped. “Listen toots, you know I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to get Minnie to the doctor. She's-”

“Since when can you afford to see the doctor!” one villager shouted, with others angrily agreeing. “So you do have a secret gold horde!”

“We can't afford it!” Minnie looked around worriedly, seeing more furious people stepping out of their houses and stalls. “We have to give up our bread to do it!”

“But Horace saw the King walking out of your house with tons of gold bars!” Daisy said, trying not to share the same anger. More than anything she wanted to believe the man she thought of as her future husband and the woman she thought of as her future sister. “Where did it all come from?”

Donald drew back, nervously pulling his sister in closer as the crowd got bigger. “You wouldn't believe us if we told you.”

“Try us!” another villager barked.

So Minnie tried them, taking a deep breath and focusing as hard as she could on what she remembered, and trying to ignore the pounding headache that the attempt created. “Last night, a magician came to my house and turned a block of straw into gold, because I gave him all of our eggs!”

“...You're right, we don't believe it!” The voices of the villagers became more heated, more temperamental, throwing hot accusations filled with bitterness.

“Must be nice, being rich while all of us are suffering under the King's taxes!”  
“How much gold are you selfish siblings hiding? How dare you hide it from us!”  
“You don't deserve to have it all! Get out of our kingdom!”

Daisy tried to speak up, tried to say that surely Donald and Minnie had their reasons, but her one voice of support was drowned out in all the hate and fury. The circle grew tighter and closer, and Donald held his sister close, snarling at anyone who dared to take a step closer. Minnie was in tears, begging for someone to believe her. “But it's true! We would never stop helping the village! A magician really did turn straw into gold!”

“DO YOU THINK WE'RE STUPID?!”  
“GIVE US ALL YOUR GOLD!”  
“TAKE EVERYTHING THEY HAVE!”

The screams went on, and in seconds, the mad audience was about to descend upon the pair and rip them to shreds -

When a single egg was suddenly splattered across the closest villager's face. A dead silence struck the crowd, as wasting such a precious commodity was unheard of. As everyone turned to face where it came from, there stood Clarabelle, with her prized hen under one arm. Horace was behind her, his head ducked in shame. Clarabelle glared daggers at the crowd, and her hen copied the same fierce expression. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” she barked, using her height to her advantage and looming over the quiet people. “You were about to put your hands on two of the nicest, hardest-working people we've got in this entire kingdom, all over one silly story?”

“You told everyone the silly story,” Daisy pointed out.

“Well of course I did, that's what town gossips are supposed to do.” It would have been a fine time for everyone to collectively roll their eyes, but thankfully she went on with her fire. “But I didn't tell it so you'd all go after Donald and Minnie! How many times have they helped us out with our problems? Donald takes as many jobs as his little body can handle and never complains! Minnie doesn't just fix tears and rips in our clothing, she mends our hearts! I saw her give away all the eggs she bought to a complete stranger! How many of you would do what they do?”

The once righteous cries of bitterness now turned into hushed mumbles, as many villagers lowered their heads and shuffled their feet. Minnie broke out of her brother's arms to rush into a hug with Clarabelle, who was more than happy to return it. “Oh, thank you, Clarabelle!”

Clarabelle laid a kiss on the top of her head. “Minnie, if you say a magician turned a whole bale of straw into gold, than by golly, that's exactly what happened!” She then paused. “...Out of curiosity, why did he do that?”

Donald reluctantly cleared his throat. “Uh, that'd be on me. I... lied to Captain Pete and told him Minnie could spin straw into gold.”

Daisy balked. “He didn't actually believe you, did he?”

“Of course not, no one in their right mind would! But the King saw it as some kind of insult, so he said if Minnie didn't go through with it, we'd have our butts in jail! Or Minnie could be his...” He trailed off, not wanting to say it, and no one wanted to hear him say it.

“All that nonsense, over one little fib?” Horace stepped forward, one hand on his back. “What happens if one of us says something that's not entirely true? The King's gone mad!”

“The King is who we should be mad at in the first place!” Clarabelle agreed, with her hen giving a cluck of agreement. “It's not Minnie and Donald's fault the taxes are so high! It's not their fault we're all so poor! It's because of the King! I tell you, things weren't this bad when his father was alive and ruling!”

Donald punched one fist into his empty palm. “You're right! We shouldn't have to choose between going to the doctor or getting enough to eat!” The villagers that had mere moments ago been against him now agreed with him, stomping their feet and shouting praise.

“What the duck says is true! The King is turning us against one another!”  
“The King keeps all the money, he never uses it to improve the kingdom!”  
“If he could imprison them so easily, why not us? It can't go on like this!”

“It won't go on like this!” Donald felt a surge of power rushing through his body, pounding a fist to his chest. “He tried to hurt my sister, and I say it's high time he paid the price! I say it's time we kick out the King! Who's with me?!”

“I sure am!” Daisy cheered, loving this new, courageous side of her beloved. “Kick out the King!”

“You can count on Horace and me!” Clarabelle decided for her husband, but he didn't seem opposed to it. “Kick out the King!”

This came with a thunderous, pleased cry, chanting the new mantra over and over again.

“KICK OUT THE KING! KICK OUT THE KING! KICK OUT THE KING!”

This continued on for some time with everyone in the kingdom enthusiastic for this revolution – everyone except Minnie, who had been silent for some time, thinking about one detail everyone had skipped over. She waited patiently until everyone was taking a breath in-between KING and KICK.

“Excuse me,” she quickly piped up with her interruption, “While I do agree that things need to be changed, there's just one problem. If we did kick out Mortimer...who would take his place? Does anyone here know how run a kingdom?”

People froze with their fists in the air, mouths open, as the truth hit them like a ton of bricks. Being in charge of a kingdom meant being in charge of thousands of people, of an economy, politics, of subjects that some people spent their whole lives avoiding. As their hands began to lower and they all looked at each other, they slowly understood that they couldn't reasonably pick their neighbor to be their new ruler. How was that sort of thing even decided? If someone who had no idea what they were doing was put in charge, was it possible that would make things worse?

Donald was especially pale as he began to scoot over to his sister. “You know, on second thought, maybe we ought to get back to...everything we were doing, before the King finds out we were seconds away from throwing him out.” He pushed her by the shoulders, with Minnie quietly apologizing for the logic bomb as they resumed their walk to the doctor.

The crowd began to disperse, guilt and depression slowing down their actions. They weren't sure what felt worse, that they had almost torn apart two good people who were just trying to survive, or that they were living in a poor wasteland with no savior in sight. They had already forgotten about the magician Minnie had mentioned, and when Horace asked Clarabelle about the incident with the eggs, Clarabelle was struck with a terrible headache.

~*~

The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with Minnie, save for a possible case of malnutrition and severe headaches, which was the same all across the village. Minnie still thanked him kindly for doing the best job he could, hug included, and the siblings went home – although this time they took the longer route, not wanting to accidentally incite a riot or a revolution again. Donald was worried that the doctor couldn't find a cure for memory loss, but Minnie as per usual tried to find the silver lining in all clouds. “Don't be sad, Donald, look! We've got people at the house! It might mean guests, or customers!”

Donald looked up. “...Minnie, are those the guardsmen again?”

“... Maybe?”

“... What are the odds that the King heard about me encouraging people to kick him out?”

“Maybe... he... misheard kick for kiss?”

The duo walked to their front door, spotting the same carriage where it had been parked that morning. Donald held Minnie's hand and opened the door.

Inside stood the King, slowly tapping his fingers together. “Welcome home!”

Inside stretched the Captain, putting down the last bale of straw, panting. “Why was I the only one to carry all of these?”

Inside their house, from floor to ceiling, stacked in every room, taking up almost every single inch of space, was nothing but straw, straw, straw.

Minnie finally lost her positivity. “He didn't hear kiss.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and Blueshifted, who take time from their busy lives to help with my hobby.
> 
> Not much to say here! I know this story is pretty rushed and not as good as my previous works, but this was more of a self-imposed challenge than something I put my heart and soul into. We'll be back on track on the next big story. For now, the end is getting close!

Donald slowly put his hand on the doorknob, intending to close it, but he had half a mind to pick up his sister and see how far he could run away with her before the guards would capture them. As he mentally calculated the distance a success would require, Minnie spoke shakily, trying to politely curtsy. “Your Highness, it is an... honor... to see you again so soon.”

“Of course it is!” Mortimer sat down on one of the short stacks of hay, crossing one leg across his lap. “You didn't think I'd abandon my favorite pair of siblings, did you? Especially not because of one or two little slips of the tongue.”

Donald glanced at Pete, who merely nodded and waved once to show that, yes, Pete had not only heard what happened but as obligated by duty, had told the king. As much as the duck wanted to be mad at him, he knew if Mortimer found out another way, Pete would have suffered for it. With a huff, he stepped in front of his sister, ready to shield her. “Look, what happened in the village was my doing! Minnie was the one who put a stop to it! Stop going after her just because I'm the one who keeps screwing up!”

Minnie tugged on Donald's arm in a futile effort to stop him, and Mortimer let out a little laugh. “I'm willing to let bygones be bygones! I don't know where you get this impression that I'm a cold-hearted tyrant. Why, I'm just like my old man, and everyone loved my old man. Now there was a good member of the family...I gotta admit, I feel sorry for your sister, being burdened with such a loud-mouthed brother.” His eyes burned into Minnie's, daring her to object, daring her to shout, daring for her to give him a reason to punish her. “Why, if I was in your pretty shoes, I'd ditch him the first chance I got and forget I ever had a brother in the first place.” He smiled, clapping his hands together, waiting for the outburst.

And oh, she did want to object, she did want to shout, but she wasn't as naive a girl as Mortimer expected. She sucked in a big gulp of air, keeping her back straight. “But you're not me, Your Highness, and I'm not you. So you can see things I can't, and in the exact same way, I see things you can't. It's all a matter of perspective. And I don't think someone as important as yourself could spare the time to see how wonderfully kind my brother is.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Donald trying to smile, but given the daunting task once again before them it couldn't stay. “What with you being so busy in the castle, you'd never see how he helps not only all the animals of the kingdom, but all the people as well, because he never turns down a cry for help. If someone needs him, he will always be there. And I truly hope someday that, if fortune should ever disfavor you, and you also need his hand, he will be there to lend it.”

Mortimer's smirk melted into a scowl, his fingers tapping along his leg. What a clever little busybody. Nothing she said could really be marked as offensive, although it made him want to gag. Sibling love – what a crock! In the end, all you ever truly cared about was yourself, and Mortimer found an itching drive to prove it. But that wasn't what he came here for, so he steeled himself. “I'm sure that day won't be for a long, long, _long_ while. So let's focus on the day that's here!” He patted the straw underneath him. “I know neither of you are as stupid as you look, so you must know why I brought all this over. This should be no trouble at all for the master seamstress!”

Donald crossed his arms, glaring hotly. “How could you have used up all the gold we already gave you? It hasn't even been an entire day! You only got it this morning! You should be set for life!”

Mortimer clicked his tongue to his large front teeth. “You never do see the big picture, do you, Donny-boy? Why settle for a measly couple of gold bars, when I can have a whole house full of gold! I can be set for sixteen lifetimes! With this much gold, I could cover every single thing in the castle with gold!” The idea was enough to make him drool. “Gold bedrooms, gold libraries, gold silverware, gold toilets!”

As Minnie fought off that disturbing mental image, she spoke up again, struggling to once more find a positive outlook on a dark situation. “And if you had that much gold, you wouldn't need to tax the people so harshly anymore! Things could start going back to the way they used to, and no one would have to choose between their food and their health again!”

The King stared at Minnie as if she'd started talking about a completely random topic. “What does that have to do with anything? Why on earth would I stop taxing my people?”

She balked. “Because...because you wouldn't need the money anymore?”

“I need whatever I tell you I need!” Mortimer began to stand up, towering tall above the siblings. “Everything in this kingdom belongs to me, and if I want it, then I will get it! If I want everyone's money, then I'll get everyone's money! If I want you to turn all of this straw into gold, then that's what's going to happen! If I want you to adore me, then you're all going to adore me, way more than you ever adored my father!”

“You are _nothing_ like your father, and everyone is suffering for it!” Donald stopped after he said it, but then he decided, _what the hey_ , he was already doomed anyway. What was a few more inches going to matter in his grave? Minnie was shouting his name, but Donald kept going. “You can take our money, you can take away our lives, but I swear to you right here and now, no one is ever going to adore you! And if you had a single working brain cell working in that head of yours, you'd realize why!” In an instant he had a fistful of Mortimer's cravat and yanked him down until they were eye-level, causing Minnie to gasp, backing up until her back hit the door, and Pete to reach out yet do nothing. “I don't love Minnie because she's related to me. Blood and titles don't automatically mean people have to love and respect you! It's actions that make you earn both! She's a good, kind, sweet girl that cares about everyone around her, and she always gives me a second chance after I screw up! And that's why I love her! But you... you're just a spoiled brat, throwing a temper tantrum whenever things don't go your way! You're not a king, you're a baby with a crown!”

For the first time in Donald's life, he saw Mortimer lose the cocky, evil look in his eyes – it was replaced with fear. Pete had yet to protect him, the guards were outside, and Donald was in control here. Donald's heart raced as he realized he had an opportunity – except he didn't know what the opportunity was for. If he well and truly socked the King, which he badly wanted to do, what would follow next? Minnie's logic was still true, there was no one to take Mortimer's place. Yet how could he pass this rare chance by? Maybe one good punch would make the lesson sink in harder. Donald's free hand balled up.

“And maybe your 'old man' wasn't so fantastic either, if he could raise such an awful prince! The last good thing he ever did was realize his mistake and give the throne to-”

Then came the headache, slamming so hard into Donald's brain that he cried out in pain, unable to remember the last thing he'd been about to make. Even stranger, he wasn't the only one instantly afflicted. Minnie, Mortimer, and Pete all felt a similar dagger thrust into their minds, powerful enough to send them to their knees and drench them in sweat. Donald was forced to release Mortimer, the nerves in his forehead pulsating with torment, robbing him of the strength in his hands. Mortimer stumbled to the floor, and Pete had to lean on a stack of hay to catch his breath. Minnie managed to recover first, or at least swim through the pain enough to try and hold her brother up. “Donald!” He couldn't reply.

Mortimer shakily stood up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. He didn't know if that was divine intervention or his luck was turning around, but he wasn't going to waste a second longer trying to figure it out. “It's...it's the same deal as before! Either this is all gold when I return, or your lives will continue in the dungeon...” A harsh snarl towards Minnie. “Or in my arms!”

“W-wait a minute!” Of all people, it was Pete who was now speaking up, trying to reach a hand towards the King. “Didn't you just see what happened?! What _was_ that? What's going on?”

“Who cares?! We're going!” Mortimer kicked over a bale of straw. Minnie managed to pull her brother away from the door.

“But that wasn't a coincidence!” Pete pleaded, trying to follow Mortimer without tripping over any straw. “I've been getting headaches a lot lately, but if everyone's getting them, that can't be anything good! W-what if it's some kinda disease? What if we're all sick? We gotta get a doctor!”

“I'm sick of your yammering!” Mortimer grabbed Pete by his fleshy cheek, squeezing tightly. “If I say we're going, we're going! Unless you'd like to stay and share their fate!” He pulled Pete in close, snarling so rabidly that spare spittle was being sprinkled on Pete's face. “So there's your choice, fatso! Stay, or go?”

Pete was surprised to find himself hesitating. Staying with Mortimer meant he could keep his job and – what else was there? No respect or dignity, that was for sure, and now no health? Would life in the dungeon be that much worse? His eyes fled to Minnie and Donald. Donald was still recovering, a hand to his head, but Minnie was watching Pete with sad pity. That hurt worst of all - surely she knew about Pete's bullying towards Donald, but she felt sorry for him? He felt a desperate, useless need to restore some pride. “I-I'm going, sir...You wouldn't catch me dead with these...losers.” He couldn't even come up with a decent insult anymore.

Mortimer let go of Pete's cheek and gave it a pat. “The first smart decision you've ever made.” He opened the door, casting one final look upon the duo.

Minnie eyes slowly slid over to Mortimer. Much to his frustration, those gorgeous eyes didn't have any terror to them like they did before. This was defiance – defiance like that one time - “I don't think you even know what love is,” she spoke softly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

Mortimer froze, his jaw set. Words wouldn't come to him, and he finally stormed off, slamming the door into Pete's face. Pete bounced back, rubbing his sore nose before opening the door a second time. All he could offer was a glum, “Does anybody?” before joining his master.

No, Minnie wasn't afraid. Worried, yes, but fear wasn't going to take over tonight. Though her memories of the mysterious magician were vanishing with each coming hour, she knew he vowed to return should she ever need his help again. The worry was over her brother – he still wasn't recovering from the headache, even though everyone else had gotten over it. She shook his shoulder. “Donald?”

“S-something's... wrong...” Donald choked out before falling forward, his hands almost missing the floor. The headache hadn't left, and now it was taking over his body, his eyelids twitching and his chest heaving.

“Donald!” Minnie cried again, trying to hold her brother up. “The doctor, we've got to get the doctor!”

“Guards... won't...” Donald managed to breathe out, but even with his small words, Minnie knew what he meant – the guardsmen wouldn't let the two out of the house, just as the night before. He tried to say something else, but his head lobbed forward, and Minnie felt tears in her eyes. Maybe if she begged hard enough, the magic man would cure him – oh, now she felt fear, now it came as Pete's words returned to her. Yes, this wasn't natural, there was something dreadfully wrong with their bodies and they didn't know what to do. 

But fear wasn't going to get anything done. Minnie drew deep, long breaths, using all the strength in her tiny body to help Donald to his room and lay on his bed – with all the straw clogging up the house, this task was made twice as difficult, and by the time Donald was laying down, Minnie was completely worn out. Her own bedroom was blocked off by straw entirely, so she couldn't give him her blanket and instead made due by covering him with his own jacket. She tried to wipe off his sweat, but every time she thought she'd gotten it all, his body would wrack with pain again and he'd be slick with sweat. Minnie could no longer fight her tears, seeing her brother suffer and being unable to help.

She managed to pull herself away from his bedroom, and stood near the front door, where there was at least enough room to pace and fret. “Please...” she spoke to the open air. “Please come back! We need your help! I'll do anything, just, please, don't let me lose my brother!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, pleading for the hero to appear, hot tears flooding down her face. “Why are things turning out this way?! Isn't there anything I can do?! Isn't there...” Her voice broke, and she cried into her hands. “Isn't there anything I can do...?”

Minnie would have sobbed deep into the night, had not a warm hand touched her cheek, a thumb brushing away her tears. Startled, she looked up, and there stood the magician, his blue eyes sad and heartbroken. She didn't know how he got in and didn't care. She threw herself into his arms, crying into his chest, and his gentle embrace held her with all the love in the world. It hurt to see him, and at the same time it was the sweetest relief. “M-My brother...” She gasped for air. “You... you have to help him!”

“I'm sorry,” he spoke with great unwillingness, “But...I can't. There's nothing I can do for him.”

Minnie pulled back, her face covered in shock. “What?! But...please, you have to!” She grabbed his arms and tried to shake him. “Use your magic! You said I have to pay you a kindness...I'll pay you a thousand kindnesses! Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it!”

The magician cupped her cheeks. “I also said that magic isn't the solution to everything...” He then frowned, looking away for a moment. “At least, I think that's what I said. It's getting harder to...” He shook his head, getting back to the scene. “There are some things I can't do. But I promise you, this is not the end of things. There are things you can do, I promise.” He drew back enough to look at all the straw in the house, nodding once affirmatively. “And I can help you here like I did before. I can turn this all into gold...for a kindness.”

“...For a kindness,” Minnie mumbled, rubbing her face with her sleeves in an effort to wipe away her tears. “W-what can I do? We still have some bread and milk...”

The magician hesitated for one moment, but not because he was forgetting something or he was reluctant to do what was necessary. Minnie's brother was suffering immensely, she'd just been told there was nothing that could be done, and yet she was still willing to offer up perhaps the only food she had left. She was barely keeping it together, with wet eyes and a shaking body – yet, indeed, she was keeping it together. She was a wondrous being, to be sure, and in that instant the magician had to wonder if he was ever worthy of her at all – if anyone was. He shook his head, and then help up a hand. “No, that's all right. I will spin this straw into gold, if you do me a kindness...and listen to my story.”

Minnie blinked, blinked again, blinked harder and nothing changed. “Listen? That's all? But that's so easy!”

The magician smiled wryly. “You'd be surprised. Some people need their whole lives to learn how to listen. But that's all I'm asking...hear my story out from start to finish, and I will return the favor with your fate.”

“I...” Minnie wasn't sure how well she could pay attention when her brother's pain was still on her mind, but on the other hand, if the magician was going to help them out in such a big way, listening to a simple story was truly the least she could do. She nodded slowly, moving to sit on a stack of straw. “I'll listen. I'll listen to every single word.”

“I know you will.” The magician smiled. “Folks with ears as big as ours, it's one of our best talents.” Despite Minnie's misfortune, the wisecrack made her lips twitch for a quick smile, as he knew it would. “All right, for this story, we're going to need a bit more than our imagination. And another thing... this story doesn't have an ending, not yet. I guess you could say it's a work in progress.” He twirled the staff in his hand, and it glowed with a soft golden haze – little pricks of discarded straw on the floor began to stand up to attention. “It will have some happy parts, and some sad parts, but whether it's a happy story or a sad story...guess that'll depending on the ending, whenever that comes.”

Another twirl of his staff, and the magician suddenly slammed it into the floor. The straw began to fly around, meeting each other and twisting around each other, combining until they were small puppets without strings. Yet the shadows they cast on the wall didn't match their shapes, and Minnie felt her eyelids go heavy. She wasn't sleepy, not exactly, she was suddenly able to see things beyond the shadows, and the magician's voice lost its country twang, becoming somber and cool, and then she was lost in the stars...

“Once upon a time...”

~*~

Once upon a time, there was a happy, beautiful kingdom. It was prosperous and peaceful, with the villagers and the royalty working hand-in-hand so that everyone knew contentment. The King ruled wisely, and he was loved for his sensible actions, his understanding of the common man, and he loved them in return. He also loved his sweet Queen, who was like a mother to everyone she met, bestowing care and concern upon every soul she touched. Theirs could have been a rule that would have made for decades of joy.

But when the Queen gave birth to her first son, she was told that while her heart was great, her body was weak. If she ever had another child, she would not live to see it grow up. For a few years, they had nothing to fear. They raised their first son with care and discipline, knowing someday he would take the throne, so their people would need a fair leader. However, the Queen soon found herself carrying another child. Despite pleas from her husband, the Queen decided that she would give her own life in order for the child to live. Thus the second son was born, and the Queen passed away, leaving the kingdom in great mourning.

Now that the King was alone, he feared that the children would blame themselves for the death of their mother. So he decided that these boys would be raised with love, but nothing else. He would no longer discipline them or allow anyone else to tell them they were wrong. He let them do as they pleased and wouldn't allow them to suffer any consequences. While the poor King meant well, a life without punishment or mistakes is not a good one. The children grew up spoiled and wicked, seeing the world as a game. They treated the servants of the castle like toys, able to bully and hurt whoever they wanted, while every greedy desire was filled. This continued for many years, even as the children became adults, wasting their fortunes and abusing everyone beneath them. They believed that because they were royalty, they deserved the best. They were never told that royal blood, power and gold wasn't necessary for someone to love you. The King told them every day that because they were princes, they were adored by all, even though it wasn't true.

Things would have continued on this dreadful path if not for one mistake. The younger prince often enjoyed using the royal carriage and driving it himself, not caring if anyone or anything was in his path. One day as he was out riding near the edge of the village, a brand new sight caught his eyes. He had seen the most beautiful girl in the entire village – she was outside her house, hanging the laundry out to dry. The prince was so distracted by her beauty that he didn't look where he was going, and the carriage smashed into a nearby tree. The prince was badly injured, and his horses were loose, running rampant.

When the prince woke up, he was inside the very same house, and being tended to by the very same maiden who had accidentally caught his attention. Her brother had calmed down the horses and was working on repairing the carriage. The brother wrapped up his wounds, and the sister sewed up his torn clothing. All the while they asked if he was all right, what they could do for him, and told him that all would be well. The prince assumed all this care was because he was royalty, and so demanded they tell him what price they expected to be paid for their services. But the siblings didn't understand what he was saying. That was when he realized they didn't know he was a prince at all.

~*~

_Minnie remembered details that the magician had long since forgotten, like her surprise at how frail and thin the boy in her bed was. It was as if he'd never done a single difficult thing in his life and had no muscles at all. He stared at her, incredulous at what had been said, his cold eyes changing as he struggled to understand. As he tried to form some kind of sentence, Minnie placed a cool, wet rag on his forehead._

_“If we're not careful, you could get sick from those wounds,” she had said. “So hopefully that will keep away any fever...but if it doesn't, the doctor in the village is wonderfully talented. I'm sure he'd cure you in no time,” she chirped pleasantly, happy to speak praise of anyone at the drop of a hat. “And the best part is, Clarabelle gave me a little extra payment on her last dress, so paying the doctor will be no trouble at all!”_

_At that, the boy gripped the bed sheets and tried to sit up, despite Minnie's protests. “Now you wait one minute.” His voice was dry and harsh. “Accepting no payment for aiding me is one thing... but you don't actually expect me to believe you'd shell out good coin for a complete stranger! No one would do that to someone they didn't love or know! Are you nuts?!”_

_Minnie blinked rapidly, unable to understand what the fuss was all about. Donald calmly reached out and pushed down on the boy's head, sending him back into bed. “If you keep fussing like that, you'll make your wounds worse.”_

_The boy grumbled, embarrassed that he couldn't even push back. “I am not fussing.”_

_“Listen, I've raised more than my fair share of baby horses, chickens, cows, and sisters, I know what fussing is.” Donald crossed his arms, ready to tie down the brat if need be. “Sheesh, you act like you don't want us helping you. Would you rather we kick you out?”_

_“Donald,” Minnie said his name only once, but just that once got him to ease up. She then faced the boy again, all sweetness again. “We're not going to kick you out. In fact, I don't think you should even leave this bed for a few days. Don't you worry about paying or nuttiness or anything at all.” She then stood up, brushing her dress down. “We should get you a good meal, and put some energy back into you! Then I can take measurements for your robes, they'll need to be resewn.” She then clapped her hands together, excited at her new project. “And they're made out of such wonderful materials! It's so rich and soft, this is going to be so much fun! You really have to tell me where you got them!”_

_Donald stuck a thumb to his chest. “And I'll work on fixing that carriage of yours. If I get a few extra hands from the villagers, it should take no time at all! Might wanna replace the shoes on the horses, though, those guys seem a little worn out.” His eyes shone and his voice became just as giddy as his sibling's. “Once they're no longer spooked, I bet those guys will be able to run faster than we can see! Those are some strong horses you've got there, you have to be proud!”_

_The boy stared at them, incredulous. The happiness he was seeing there was completely unfamiliar to him – he knew then and there he'd never come close to feeling anything like that. All of his toys, all of his horses, all of his gold, nothing had ever made him smile like they were smiling. He felt himself sinking deeper into the bed. He was a prince, he was royalty, and yet now he felt he was in the presence of two vastly superior beings._

_Minnie lightly touched his forehead again. “Now then, is there anything else we can do for you?”_

_The boy said nothing at first, watching her, trying to understand her, not knowing his eyes were losing their icy glare. “No,” he finally said, and for the first time in his life said, “Thank you.”_

~*~

They had no idea who he was, but they had reached out their arms and welcomed him into their home, treating his injuries and helping him in every way they could. The prince was stunned that anyone would be so kind to a complete stranger. To them, rich and poor didn't matter when it came to helping another. Most amazing of all, they wore bright, happy smiles as they hammered up his carriage and washed the blood from his clothes. They were pleased to be helping another person. It was a joy that the prince didn't know could exist. It made all the so-called happiness he thought he knew in the castle seem hollow and empty.

Soon the prince could leave the house, but he found he was reluctant to leave a house of pure love and reenter one so fake and shallow. The prince decided that he didn't want a love he hadn't earned, and wanted to understand how the siblings saw the world. So he decided he would return to the village and not tell people who he was, pretending to be a mere traveler. His surprises continued as the villagers were also kind and welcoming to him, despite thinking he was a commoner. A farm woman offered her eggs for free since he was a new face, and her husband volunteered to give him a tour of the village. A noblewoman selling flowers laughed at his jokes. The blacksmith wanted him to have a seat and share stories. No matter where he went, he found that no one cared for titles or riches, for they had the fortune to know one another.

The prince continued to visit the siblings, and his world opened up. No longer was he merely a prince, but he found new aspects to himself that they brought out. He was a joker, clever, full of energy and creativity. He discovered that it wasn't that they completely loved strangers – their love came from love of humanity itself, of knowing the possibilities with new friends. He learned about hope, compassion, and hard work – and as he saw how hard his friends worked, he better understood how the kingdom was ruled, more than any tutor could teach him. The kingdom was great and prosperous, but it could be better. Perhaps adding a new road there, increasing a price there, getting rid of laws or loopholes... but there was one problem with his attempt to make changes. He wasn't the heir to the throne.

The elder brother was still spoiled and wicked, and had no desire to change his ways. He didn't understand why his younger brother chose to mingle with commoners, and mocked his sibling for his foolish hobbies. The younger prince tried again and again to bring the older prince out of the castle to see the wonderful ways of the kingdom, but the older prince refused. He enjoyed his narcissism and greediness far too much to let anyone inside his heart. The older prince assumed that the younger prince must be toying with the villagers, it was the only thing that made sense to him. It was clear that when he became king, his selfish ways would bring great harm to everyone. He only cared about himself, and believed love was bestowed upon him whether he'd done anything to earn it or not.

The younger prince was despondent, but he still continued to visit the village, even revealing his true self to them all. They happily accepted him and treated him no different, having come to truly adore him the same way he adored them. The ones who cared for him most were the siblings, and no one was surprised to find he felt the same – especially when it came to the pretty little sister. Her heart knew no limits, giving those who had lost their second chances, third, and fourth ones. Whenever she fixed clothing, it was as if she became part of the owner's family, knowing the right stitches and seams to make the old dress or suit feel new again. Sometimes the prince would watch her work, and it was like her fingers were magical, able to weave enchantments around string and cloth, so you'd never knew it had a rip in the first place. All the while she'd hum a merry tune, and perhaps cast the prince a shy smile.

Eventually she got tired of him merely watching and invited him to sit with her, so she could teach him how to sew and stitch. He pricked his fingers many times, and she'd kiss them until the pain went away. The first time the prince successfully stitched two pieces of cloth together, he felt actual accomplishment for the first time in his life. It was only then that he felt he was capable of doing things, of making change, of actually working for someone else. He understood why the little sister took such great pride in her work – and he wanted to feel the same pride. A true ruler was not a ruler at all, but an equal worker with the people of his land. The little sister believed he could do anything he put his mind to, and it was no wonder that she stole his heart. Her brother could see it plain as day, and would often wait a little longer to return home so the shy lovers could spend more time alone together.

Little by little, the younger prince tried to make what changes he could. The man who could tame horses became the stable-hand, an injured guardsman could rest knowing his family would be taken care of, and an arrogant Captain found himself soothed when treated with dignity. But this happy time was not meant to last. The King was growing ill, and it was apparent that soon he would leave the world and his bratty son would ruin the throne. The younger prince was ready to give up all hope of change, but the stable-hand didn't see anything ending so soon. If the older prince wasn't going to change, then someone else would need to rule the kingdom. So the stable-hand asked, “Why couldn't the younger prince take the throne?”

~*~

_Minnie saw this too, although the boys hadn't known she was there at the time. Donald and his friend were in the marketplace, with Donald dragging Mickey to every single stall in an effort to buy him something. Donald was overjoyed by his new job at the castle, and insisted he show his thanks with coin, but the boy wasn't having any of it, although the continued efforts were making him laugh. He even laughed when Donald pulled him under his arm and gave him a noogie between the ears. “C'mon you little brat, let me get you a new saddle! Or new shoes! At least let me buy you a meal, you stubborn git!”_

_“I told you,” the boy said between breathless laughter, “I don't want nothin'! I'm just happy it all worked out!”_

_At the time, Minnie was getting new sewing needles, and she spotted the two boys playfully roughhousing. She had planned to strut over and see if the boy noticed how much effort she had put into her appearance this morning, but Daisy had suddenly yanked Minnie out of sight, grinning as she put a finger to her lips. To Daisy, spying could be just as much fun as flirting. Minnie didn't quite agree, but neither did she actually fight Daisy off, as they popped their heads around the corner of Daisy's house to watch what the boys would say, preferably about them._

_But the subject didn't wander over to females, as Donald let go of his companion. “'Nothin'', he says... you sound more like a villager than a royal! You ever get in trouble for speaking like that?”_

_“Naw, father doesn't mind...” The boy shrugged. “Mortimer makes fun, but he makes fun of everything I do. He thinks this is all some big joke and he's having the biggest laugh, but he doesn't even want to understand why I'm here.” The boy slowed down his walk, his earlier enthusiasm vanishing. “I'm... I'm really worried, Donald. The other day I heard him proposing some ideas for when he takes the throne... All of it was taxes. Taxes on chicken feed, taxes on wagon wheels, taxes on horseshoes...he's going to rob everyone of every last coin they have, and he thinks he deserves it.”_

_Donald stuck his hands into his pockets, initially quiet given the seriousness of the conversation. “...Have you given any thought to what I said? I meant it. You should be the next king.”_

_The girls had gasped and covered each other mouths with their hands – Minnie got to Daisy's first - quickly to muffle the sound. Donald glanced over, quizzical at what he thought he heard, but the boy sighed loudly enough to bring him back. “I don't know...that's a lot of responsibility, and I...I don't think I could ever be as good as my father.”_

_Donald gently placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. “No one's asking you to be as good as your old man. Amazingly enough, he's not perfect, and neither are you...no matter what certain girls may be thinking.” He shot a glance at the not-very-well-hidden lasses. He didn't need to see Minnie to know she was blushing deeply and Daisy was suppressing mad giggling. “We just want you to be you, and that's more than good enough to help us all out. At least ask around and see what everyone else thinks.”_

_The boy slowly smiled, lifting his head to face Donald. He reached up and squeezed the hand on his shoulder. “Thanks...Y'know, you're one of the best friends I've ever had.”_

_“Does that really count if you didn't have any friends until you met me and Minnie?”_

_The boy smirked. “If I do become king, the first thing I'll do is outlaw all wise-guys.”_

_Donald put his arm around the boy's neck in a pretend choke. “I'll stop the wisecracks if you let me reward you, my bother-in-law.” But he hadn't forgotten the R._

_Now it was the boy's turn to blush and fluster while Donald cackled joyfully, and the girls collapsed against each other in high-pitched giggles, having no doubt that the boy would be king and their lives would be grand and glorious._

~*~

The younger prince was shocked at the idea, and at first didn't accept it. But as he went from friend to friend, villager to villager, he discovered they too encouraged the idea and would be proud to see him wear the crown. Encouraged by all those who believed in him, the prince approached his dying father and on one knee, made the argument to become the next king. As the King listened to all the experiences his younger son had gone through, and how much his boy had changed, he realized how wrong he had been to raise his children without a firm hand. Despite his failings, the younger prince had become a fine man, and would be a fine ruler. The younger prince was henceforth declared to be the heir to the throne.

The older son was enraged by this choice. He saw his younger brother as a thief, and his father as a liar who didn't truly love him at all. He refused to let his power be taken, and would use any means to keep what he saw as rightfully his. The older son decided to use the family's secret to secure his throne. Long ago when the sons were still young, the King had told them of a magic book hidden in his room. It had been given to the earliest of kings by a friendly wizard, who assured them that if they continued to rule in kindness, then the magic would never fade. That was the number one rule of magic – in order to do a kindness, a kindness must be given in turn. Generations of kings and queens vowed to only use the book in the most dire of emergencies, and now the oldest prince felt this was an emergency. As his father slept, he crept into the room and stole the book, selecting a certain spell that would keep things the way he wanted them – and more.

The night before the last of the spell was complete, the younger prince visited his favorite family once more, telling them that he would take the throne. They were happy for him, and knew he would rule well. He promised tomorrow he would see them again, and he took the younger sister into his hands, telling her that he would have a very important question to ask her when that day came. He told her how much he loved her, that his very day and night began with thoughts of her, and that she had helped him become a better person. She responded that she loved him too, and that her life was richer than gold because she knew him. Whatever question he had for her, she knew she would reply with truest sincerity and deepest love.

~*~

_This memory was clearest of all, for it had the most details she could grasp. The chilly air under the moonlight gave the boy the idea to take off his cape and wrap it around Minnie's shoulders. They could have just as easily gone inside the house, but Donald was there, and this was not a moment that needed teasing. Even though the moment was peaceful and tranquil, with their foreheads pressed together and not a word exchanged between them, their hearts were racing. The boy would be King, not tomorrow and not the day after, but it would be soon. For better or worse, things would change, and they were both excited and afraid of what that would entail._

_Minnie looked into his beautiful blue eyes, amazed that once they held so much cold and cruelty. She knew she was part of the reason for that change, and there was a hint of pride in her heart. “You're going to be a wonderful king,” she spoke softly._

_“I'm gunna do my best,” the boy replied, and Minnie had come to enjoy the drawl he picked up from the village. It seemed as if the real boy had been hidden for years and being in the village had drawn him out. “And I still might not be sure what my best is...but I'm going to try. This whole kingdom is full of great, amazing people...” He reached out to cup her cheek. “And I want to keep them all happy.” Even if he valued some people's happiness over others. He was a flawed being – but so was everyone else, like his great father. “And I want you, and Donald, and everyone else to keep my head on straight. I won't be running this place alone. We're all going to work hand-in-hand, together.”_

_Minnie touched the hand on her cheek, wanting to keep him there even though she knew he had to leave soon. “What did you want to ask me? Why does it have to wait?”_

_The boy smiled – a real, genuine, full of happiness smile. “Sorry, Minnie, but not even you are gunna get out of me until the time is right!”_

_“What's wrong with the time right now?” Minnie grabbed his robes, trying to yank him down. “Ask me, ask me, ask me!”_

_“No way, no how, not now!” The boy made a run for it, laughing merrily, and the girl ran after him, laughing just as hard, chasing each other around the smashed tree. He managed to outrun her and then caught her in his arms, spinning her around as they dizzily called each other names in truest adoration. She tried to demand he tell her, so he silenced her with a kiss, and it was warm, and it was soft, and each kiss they had was better than their last. But no matter how many kisses were exchanged, no matter how many declarations of love were passed between them in sweet whispers, he wouldn't ask her what he wanted to ask her until, as he insisted, the time was right._

_Finally the boy had to leave, and as he reluctantly began to enter his carriage, he felt his sleeve being tugged. He turned around, an amused expression on his face. “For the last time-”_

_“I know,” Minnie interrupted, letting go of him. “All I wanted to ask was...whatever this question is...is it going to help the kingdom?”_

_The boy watched her for a moment, and Minnie felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. The boy took her hand and kissed her knuckles, and her heart skipped a beat. “I think it will help the kingdom in a million and one ways... but even if it didn't, I still think it's pretty gosh darn important. Might be the most important question I ever asked.” Then, playfully adding as he drew her in close to kiss her forehead. “Aside from, 'are you nuts'?”_

_Minnie pushed him into the carriage, sticking out her tongue, but once he was gone and the hoofbeats couldn't be heard, she put her hands on her chest, and she smelled his scent on his cape. She somehow knew this night was a special one. She touched her fingers to her lips, wondering if she'd ever stop smiling. She had an idea to what his question would be, but for now she'd wait. She could be patient, if he was going to ask what she believed he would ask._

~*~

In the night as everyone slept, the older prince finished the last action of the spell – a spell to make everyone forget that the younger prince had ever existed. Yet the older prince didn't realize the spell would even affect himself. In the morning, no one remembered who the younger prince was. He was thrown out of the castle as an intruder, no matter how hard he pleaded and begged for his family to remember him. He ran into the village, but no one knew his name, and it was as if they didn't want to know. Not only had every memory of him been taken, but even the actions he'd done were being forgotten. In one last desperate act, he ran to the house of the seamstress and the stable-hand. The stable-hand had no idea who he was, and was about to find his sister to ask if she knew who the stranger was.

The younger prince couldn't stand the thought of his beloved asking who he was, and so he fled from the kingdom with a broken heart. Like a coward, he hid away from the world, crying over what he had lost and couldn't regain. His gentle father died without remembering his youngest son. Every day, the prince too began to lose memories about himself, even his own name, and feared one day he would vanish completely. Yet not everyone had completely forgotten him, for as powerful as the spell was, it was no match for the original immortal wizard who had created it – his mind would last much longer than a mere mortal's, although he too would eventually forget. The kindly, goofy old wizard had sensed someone using his spells for an ill purpose, and had found the younger prince. He took the boy in, teaching him spells to delight and help those around him, but also warned the prince that the kingdom was suffering because of the older prince's actions.

The older prince had ignored the one rule of magic – to do a kindness and have a kindness be done in turn. Because he had done neither, the spell was incomplete and wreaking havoc with everyone's minds. Their memories were fighting back, trying to be remembered, and the inconsistency all around them would cause them great pain and panic. Soon, everyone in the kingdom would be stricken with agony before ultimately leading to their deaths. The spell had finally started to affect the wizard as well, forgetting the prince's name and what he'd taught the boy. The wizard did know how to reverse the spell, but unfortunately it was through an action neither of them could do. The younger prince couldn't allow his people to suffer, and with what little he remembered of his spells and his life, he bid the wizard farewell. The wizard gave the boy his magical staff, which would boost his powers and delay the headaches, but only for a short amount of time. With the spells, the staff, and the ambition, the prince needed to find the one person who could perform the action and reverse the spell, and he knew who it would be.

It was the one person he loved, the one he wanted, the one he needed, and even if it would torment him to have her ask who he was, he knew he had to see her again. Her bond with him was the strongest, and she would be the one to last the longest, and she could find the...

~*~

It was there that the magician stopped his tale, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple. Minnie gasped, as if she'd forgotten how to breathe, and she remembered where she was, as hot tears rolled down her face. No, she didn't know his name, but her heart pounded with tragedy and devotion – how could she have forgotten him? How could she have lost the times when he cupped her face and kissed her hair, whispering words of tenderness that he was embarrassed others would hear? The warmth of his cape on her shoulders – she could see it all, feel it all, clear as day – his bruised face laying on her bed, those cold eyes melting into genuine affection, his games with the children of the village, his merry dancing when festivals were alive – and – oh – oh no, no, no, just as she was seeing them, they were leaving! She'd sold the cape when she couldn't recall where she'd gotten it - she was going to forget them again – she was going to forget him again!

Minnie jumped off the hay and ran to the magician, grabbing his arms, as if by holding him she could never let anything about him go again. “What can I do?” she begged him, shaking him hard. “I don't want to forget you again! How can I reverse the spell?” The headache came, and she fought it off, though it wasn't easy.

The magician dropped to one knee, holding her hands gently. “The only way to reverse the spell...is for someone who loves me to say my name.”

The seamstress plunged into what few memories she had left, but to her horror found that not even times of kisses and playful dates had a name to them. “I...I don't remember!” She breathed rapidly, her body trembling with sadness. “I'm trying, but I can't! And...I'm losing it all again! It's all leaving me!” Her vision blurred, and she knew she loved him, but she couldn't say why. “You're why...You're why I can't be with anyone else! I don't want to be with anyone else! I'll never be truly happy again unless I'm with you!” She bent over, hoarse with sobs, knowing that if she closed her eyes she'd forget the color of his eyes. “There's... nothing I can do...”

“Yes, there is.” The magician's soft voice became strong, and he held her face, the way she thought she remembered he used to. “I've lost so many memories...but my memories about you are the strongest! I know that there's an item in the castle that still has my name on it! It's hidden in my room, and the one thing Mortimer didn't toss away, because I never told him about it. I know it has my name on it, and if you say it, then everyone will remember everything! The headaches will stop, and Donald won't be in pain anymore!”

Minnie swallowed hard. “Item? What item?”

The magician's face momentarily fell. “I... I don't remember what it is. All I can remember is that I hid it, it has my name, and it's connected to you somehow! If I get in the castle myself, Mortimer will throw me out before I can find it. There has to be some way for you and Donald to get in the castle. He's the stable-hand, maybe you can use that somehow!”

No, that wouldn't work, and Minnie knew it. She also knew there was another way into the castle, and for a moment wondered why the magician hadn't mentioned it – unless he'd already forgotten, or just as plausible, the idea would disgust him so deeply he'd forbid it. It disgusted her too, but it was the only way she'd be allowed within the castle, and to find the item that would save the kingdom. She wouldn't tell the magician, not when he was already suffering so much. All her life she wanted to be useful to people, to help them, and this would be the hardest way yet. Donald had said he would spend every coin he had to keep Minnie healthy – it was time for her to step up and return that devotion.

“There is something I can do,” she finally said, hands knotted together. “Something only I can do.” For the sake of her brother, for everyone in the kingdom, and to save the man in front of her, she'd sacrifice everything. Hers was a love for all so great and pure it could be devastating.

The magician smiled, perhaps with a tear or two of his own. “I believe in you, Minnie.” That one word, that one name, was the one that had never been forgotten for a single second. If all else failed and he was doomed, it would be the last memory to leave him, he knew it. He pressed their foreheads together – he greatly longed for a kiss, but knew if he dared, he would be unable to leave her, even though his mere presence was hurting her mind. He could see her wincing in pain, and understood his time was up.

He rose to his feet, picking up a strand of straw as he did so. “Because you have done me a kindness and listened to my story, I will do you a kindness and turn all of this straw into gold.” There was no need for fancy flourish or trying to impress her when time was on the line. Once more he blew the strand away, once more all the straw flew around in a dizzying tornado, and once more when the blinding colors came to a stop, gold bars covered the floor to the ceiling. Minnie closed her eyes, her hands clinging to her dress. She was afraid, deeply so, and she knew that even if she had all her memories intact, she was never as frightened as she was now. The things she was about to do, the fate of everyone in her small hands, it was a burden she wasn't ready for. But she'd carry it all, and she wouldn't complain, she wouldn't object. She never knew she was capable of such strength.

Had the magician brought it out of her, during those tranquil days of stitching colors and sharing stories? The spell was over, and Minnie dared to look up, but this time the magician hadn't even given her a farewell before leaving. Perhaps it had been too much for him to see her this way, and she couldn't blame him. Her head hurt, and so did her heart.

Minnie couldn't go anywhere now, the gold made it impossible for her to walk to any of the rooms, even blocking her off from Donald. She could only go to the door, and used this space to quietly call for the guards. “Inform the King,” she said with a somber voice, “that the gold is ready.” Without waiting for a reply she closed the door. She sat down, hugging her knees, unable and unwilling to sleep. Every time her head seemed ready to nod off, she bit down on her tongue, making herself jolt back up. She wouldn't allow herself to sleep, to let her mind lose more memories, not if she could help it. The night passed like eternity, and every so often she wept over what she had lost and what she could lose.

After what felt like centuries of agony, she could hear the sound of hoofbeats outside. She slowly stood up, brushing down her dress and cleaned up her face as best she could. The door opened, with Pete coming inside first. Even though he was there the first morning that this had happened, he was still shocked to see all the gold piled up like tall buildings.

“Hooolyyyy cow.” Pete drew out the word as his eyes took their time surveying the room. “I don't think this much gold exists in the whole wide world.” He looked down at Minnie, and while there wasn't exactly kindness in his face, she thought she saw a mixture of awe and respect. “How do you do it, miss? I mean really, how do you do it?”

Minnie blinked and for a brief second saw him before the spell had been cast – he had still been big, but it had been controlled, a warm portly belly that moved when he laughed and strong arms that could hug everyone – but then it was gone, and he was a sad soul that left hurt feelings control his diet. “I just do my best, Captain,” she finally said with a faint smile. “Just like you do. It's all anyone should ever want from you, and I know you do it.”

Pete was surprised, and he scratched his cheek, unsure how to handle such a compliment. Perhaps he would've thanked her, if the King hadn't shoved him aside. “Hey, if you want to be the first person road-block, do it somewhere else, tubby!” And just as Minnie had a quick flash to Pete's former self, a horrid memory came with Mortimer as well.

It was quick, and she couldn't remember all that had been said – but she was very sure he had approached her with leery eyes and eager fingers, trying to entice her, trying to take her, trying to assure her that he'd be a much better match for her than her brother, and that was all it had really been, trying to somehow prove he was better than his brother by taking what he loved most – and she had _slapped him_ , hard, right across the cheek - 

“What is this?” Mortimer asked, startling Minnie back to the present – her hand had been outstretched, close to reenacting what she recalled.

“I...wanted.. to shake your hand!” Minnie said quickly, her body shaking. “And thank you for coming to my humble little house again!”

“Ah, of course!” Mortimer took her hand, kissing her knuckles and making Minnie's skin crawl. “See, now there's some real respect. Maybe a good night of work showed you what's what.” He then looked around to see the gold, heels clicking with glee. “And look at all that work! I could fill my entire room with all this gold! Pete, don't just stand there, start carrying something other than your gut!” He rubbed his hands, and walked over to the closest section of gold, beginning to count.

Minnie braced herself, biting her lip, before she spoke. “Your Highness... is this going to happen again?”

Mortimer frowned at being interrupted. “So what if it does? There's plenty of straw left in this kingdom, and plenty of room in my castle for gold! You should be grateful that I've chosen you to do this honor! Others would beg for an opportunity to even be near me!”

As Pete glanced around, wondering what happened to Donald, Minnie continued speaking timidly. “And if I don't spin the next batch of straw into gold again, I'll be thrown into the dungeon... or become your bride.”

“That's right!” Mortimer snorted, crossing his arms and continuing to count. “So unless you'd rather be behind bars or behind the castle walls, you're going to do exactly as I say.”

“... What if I'd rather do that?”

Both men stopped what they were doing, and although Donald couldn't hear this conversation, he felt a sudden urge to sit up in bed.

Minnie looked right into the eyes of the man killing the kingdom, and no longer hesitated, speaking as boldly and directly as she could.

“Your Highness, King Mortimer...Please give me the honor of being your bride.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always big thanks to my awesome editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!
> 
> So yeah, the ending is pretty anticlimactic and rushed. Honestly it felt like everything was trying to prevent me from finishing this - NYCC, family troubles, work troubles, dog troubles, construction troubles, computer troubles, etc. As a result I just wrote out point by point in a desperate urge to get it all done. As I've said before, the story was really more of a self-imposed challenge than something I've been dying to write for years, so as a result it doesn't have a lot of heart and comes across as 'clunky', as one person put it.
> 
> That said, I still hope you enjoyed it and that this little ride was of some fun. I do appreciate every comment, and every fan I get. Have a Happy Halloween, and may your days be golden!

Donald didn't so much sleep and wake up as he actually passed out and eventually resurfaced to the living world. The pain had never stopped, and instead grew worse with every waking minute. It had now become such horrendous agony that it reached his entire body – his stomach threatened to empty everything he'd ever eaten, tears never stopped flowing out of his eyes, and there were times he questioned his very sanity. The only way he knew any time had passed at all was when the sun had begun to prod him through the window. If it was day, then that must mean the King was going to return, and while Minnie believed wholly in the magician, Donald couldn't be sure everything was okay until he saw it for himself.

Though his body objected to moving, Donald clawed off the bed and flopped onto the floor. He managed to find his feet, and though he needed to stop and breathe every couple of minutes, he dragged himself out of his room. This was already a good sign, because he couldn't see any of the straw. He needed to place a flat palm on the wall in order to steady himself, but when he tried to open his mouth and call for Minnie, he had to fight his stomach's urge to heave. He leaned on the wall, counting his breath, the silence around him calming him down.

… Until he realized that silence meant something had gone horribly wrong.

Donald's eyes popped open. He knew his little sister well, she wouldn't have left the house while Donald was convulsing in tremors. The fact that she wasn't scrambling to ask him how he felt was alarming. “Mi...Minnie?” He fought to say her name, and looked around the bare house. There was no straw, no gold, and no sister. “Minnie?” he asked again, this time making his way toward her bedroom. She wasn't there either. She was gone.

Maybe Minnie went to get the doctor. Maybe she went to get some bread and milk. Maybe – but no matter what excuse Donald desperately tried to conjure, each and every time his heart objected. Minnie wouldn't have left him in this state, not unless something much more awful had come up. Had Mortimer's greed gotten so great he decided to take her with the gold? It wasn't impossible. Donald fell to his knees, breathing hard. His sister was in danger, and he was here, and what could be done?

A part of him, the part of him suffering the most, said nothing could be done and he should just lie down and let the pain take control. It would have been the easiest option. Giving up meant maybe his sickness would lessen, and he wouldn't have to think about anyone again. Right now, more than anything, Donald wanted to be that selfish. He wanted to abandon her and let go.

But love – true, deep, familial love that is made and not born – wouldn't allow him. Minnie had always done everything for others, even at the cost of her own happiness and health. If she had gone willingly and not seized by Mortimer's slimy grasp, then she must have done it for Donald, or for someone else in the kingdom. She'd be made to suffer just because she had a good heart, and if Donald simply let that slide, he'd never forgive himself. He loved his little sister, and not just because she was his little sister. Minnie was good, and kind, and did all in her power to make the world a better place.

“I'm coming,” he breathed out, pushing himself up. “I'm coming, Minnie.” What could he do against Pete and his forces, especially when trembling like a leaf with daggers in his brain? Maybe nothing. Yet Donald was on his feet, willing to crawl on hand and knee if that's what it took to see Minnie again. She wasn't going to face this alone.

Even the most kind-hearted of people would have doubted he would've made it very far on his own. So it was his unusual fortune – or the play of someone's watchful eye – that one of the royal steeds just so happened to be nibbling on the grass outside of their small house. Another time, Donald would have been deeply confused about this coincidence. But there was no time to think of his good luck or if anyone was aiding him in his most dire hour. His hands grasped the saddle, and he climbed on top of the horse who, much like all animals Donald knew, instantly liked him. With one tug of the reins, the horse began to gallop towards the village.

“Hang on, Minnie! I'm coming!”

But he wouldn't be alone.

~*~

“Caterers, singers, dancers, jugglers, how about a puppet show? Who doesn't love a good puppet show? Am I forgetting anything?”

Mortimer had been shocked from Minnie's abrupt proposal, but was quick to whisk her away to his castle to make it happen. He had finally won against – who? No, he won, period, that's what counted. He was going to get the golden goose for a bride, and this required the most lavishly expensive wedding in all of history. If it was going to be Mortimer's wedding, then it had to be the best. As he strolled through the castle with Pete and Minnie, he was going through a list of essentials. He wanted the ceremony to be as soon as possible – why not tonight, a moonlit romantic wedding?

Pete jabbed a thumb behind him. “I think you're forgetting the bride, Your Highness.”

Mortimer stopped in place and turned around. Minnie had fallen behind, slowly going from wall to wall, room to room, trying to find the item that would save the kingdom. Her only hint was that it had the magician's name on it, so she was flipping through the curtains, scooting under furniture, even checking the seams on the uniforms of the guards she passed, much to their befuddlement. Of course she didn't find it, although she worried that even if she had she wouldn't know it was his name to begin with. But she'd search every inch of this castle if that's what it took – and let Mortimer search every inch of her too, if that's what it took.

Mortimer laughed obnoxiously, a hand on his stomach. “Isn't that cute? The castle is too overwhelming for her! Little lady's probably never seen anything fancier than a barn. Hey, maybe we should let her see your place, she might think your pigsty is a palace!” He howled at his own joke, and Pete chewed on his bottom lip in lieu of having no food to satiate his wounds. “Come along, toots! There will be plenty to see after the wedding!”

Minnie made a mumbling sound of agreement, slowly coming up to resume their walk. She let out a deep sigh, trying to think of how to worm an answer out of a man who didn't even know the question. “Your Highness, now that we're engaged, I'll be allowed to go anywhere in the castle, won't I?”

“Of course!” Mortimer placed his hand on Minnie's shoulder and she had to swallow down the disgust his touch gave her. “As a good wife and a good Queen, you'll be checking on the servants to make sure they're doing the cooking and cleaning perfectly! I can't have my wife actually work, then people might expect something out of me.” He pushed her forward and they all walked together, with Minnie eyeing every room they passed. “Although you'll be making your own wedding dress. If you're the best seamstress in the entire kingdom, then anyone else's work will be shoddy, and I'm not having anything shoddy at my wedding! Except old Pete here.”

Pete threw his hands up in the air. “I didn't even do anything!”

It was then Minnie saw that while all the other rooms were open, like a public display of showing off, they were passing one room that was closed. She dove for the knob, twisting it, but the click of a lock prevented her from getting any further. Her heart tightened, and she whipped around. “What's this room?”

Mortimer stopped to look, and his eyes widened. Throbbing started in his mind, and he rubbed his temple. Pete grimaced – that was the room everyone avoided, the creepiest one of all for unfathomable reasons. “That room?” Mortimer repeated, straightening himself out. “It's nothing important, just forget it. We still have a lot to cover – like pet names!”

If that wasn't the biggest clue Mortimer could give, Minnie would eat her shoe! “I want to see this room!” she cried out frantically, working the knob in her hand over and over as if that would somehow pop it open. “If I'm going to be the Queen, then I should be allowed to go anywhere, and I want to go in this room!” It had to be here, the item with the magician's name! Inside that room was everyone's salvation! There was nothing stopping her now!

Mortimer suddenly slammed his hand on the door right above Minnie's head. It dawned on her only then how much trouble her plan could cost her. “You may be Queen,” Mortimer replied darkly, his patience being tested, “But I am the King. And the King makes the rules, so if I say you don't go somewhere, you stay put! If you're going to be this much trouble, maybe we're both better off with you wearing chains instead of a wedding gown!” Even Mortimer didn't know why this single room was filling him with such anger, but it wasn't going to be opened, it would never be opened.

“I... I didn't mean...” Minnie began to back away from the door, her heart pounding in fear. Had she ruined everything by being too eager? Were things over before they could begin? Her back hit Mortimer's waist and she heard a tiny clink – keys! Keys! _Keys!!!_ \- If the door was locked, then by that logic a key was necessary. “I... I'm just so excited to be your wife!” she chirped with all the merriment she could muster, suddenly turning around to throw her arms around Mortimer in a tight embrace. She glanced down – yes, right at his hips and on his belt was a circle of steel keys. There were many hanging there, but surely one of them had to be it! It would be madness to try and yank them now, but at least she could start properly planning. For now, it was time to up her cuteness, batted eyelashes and all. She was a looker and she knew it. “Please forgive me, Morty-worty!”

Mortimer was thrown for a good three seconds before his ego took over. “Aw, of course I do! Any girl would be so overcome with joy, it's totally understandable they'd be a little nuts! And good try on the pet name, but that doesn't sound nearly adorable enough for me. Luckily we have plenty of time to get it right.” He grabbed her by the hand, and they linked arms, walking forth once more, tugging her closer around every corner. Everything was going perfectly! Who could ask for anything more? Why, he could! He wanted everything! He wanted more money, more attention, more love, more of everything without doing a single thing to deserve it.

Only Pete was suspicious about this turn of events, and he looked at the mystery door once more before a headache implored him to move on. This time he didn't walk side-by-side, and instead lagged behind, watching Minnie and she, in turn, noticed his eyes. He said nothing, but his expression was clear – was this something she really wanted to do?

Minnie smiled at him. Yes, this was something she wanted to do, and this was something she had to do. Yet Pete remained uncomfortable. Somewhere within the deepest part of his heart, a piece of him that had been forgotten was getting stronger and bolder. It wasn't enough to make him speak out, no, but it was there, and it could grow.

It would grow, if things continued this way.

~*~

By the time Donald made it to the village, those that weren't suffering from immense headaches were scrambling and gossiping as fast as they could. They suddenly had a wedding to prepare for, despite needing to work and earn coin for their living, because each villager knew that if they didn't arrive Mortimer would make them pay far worse than their lost wages. The horse had slowed down, able to sense its rider wasn't going to hang on if they continued at the same speed. Only three villagers had enough time to spare to notice the horse and the dizzy rider atop.

“Donald!” Daisy went to his side first, trying to grab his hand and pull him off. “What in the world are you doing?”

Donald grunted, yanking his hand back. “Gotta...Gotta save Minnie...gotta...” he mumbled, needing to close his eyes as now the sunlight was an enemy to his head.

“Can you really save her if she done asked the king herself for all this?” Horace questioned, one hand on his back, and the other on his head. He too was having a throbbing mental ache, but he was being too stubborn to lay down. “That's what the guardsmen said, she went and proposed to him!”

Donald balked, but didn't have the strength to object or do a classic temper tantrum. Clarabelle sighed deeply, and the chicken under her arm clucked just as hard. “Oh, I don't like this, no I don't, not one bit! Our Minnie would never want to get married to that royal ruin. Are you two so low on coin that she had no other choice?”

“Gotta save Minnie,” Donald said again, and he urged his horse on, though it would only take two steps at a time. 

“Donald, be reasonable!” Daisy shouted as she followed the steed. “I know this is awful, but if you interrupt the wedding like this, the King will throw you into the dungeon! You'll never see the light of day again!”

“Gotta save Minnie,” Donald continued to repeat, refusing to look at anyone.

“He's a darn, stubborn fool, is what he is!” Horace huffed, wincing as any gesturing made his back all the worse. “Minnie said it herself, ain't nothin' we can do. If you knocked Mortimer down, there'd be no one to take his place! I ain't no King, no one here is!”

 _But there is_ , the last of Donald's burning mind insisted. _There is, there is, there is, there is_ \- “I GOTTA SAVE MINNIE!” he suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs, stopping everyone within earshot. “I don't care, I don't care, I DON'T CARE!” Maybe he was yelling at his friends, maybe he was yelling at his own body that insisted on lying down and giving up, or maybe he was yelling at the spell itself. “She is MY SISTER! I don't care if I don't stand a chance, I don't care if nobody can rule if Mortimer can't, AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT THESE STUPID HEADACHES!” He dug his fingers into his scalp, yanking out several feathers – Daisy shrieked, and Clarabelle covered her chicken's eyes. “NOTHING IS GETTING IN MY WAY! What is the POINT of giving up? If you're all so gosh-darned _miserable_ , why don't you guys just jump off a cliff?! Leave the village?! Why do you stay here and just let Mortimer do whatever he wants? Why are we all still here? What are we waiting for?!”

Now there was a serious question to consider, one so simple and yet so stunning that a few villagers dropped what they were holding in awe. Why did they stay? At some point, pride and heritage couldn't have been worth all this sadness. Yet not a single person had taken the step and walked away from it all. They couldn't have honestly thought things were going to improve. So why was everyone still here? Were they actually waiting for something?

 _No_ , a gentle whisper echoed in everyone's mind. _We're waiting for someone._

Then the headaches came, striking each individual in their own personal torment. People cried, some went into sobs, holding their heads and begging for help. Clarabelle collapsed into Horace's arms and he held her as best he could, in spite of his back. Daisy reeled, grabbing onto a post from the market stalls, and she stared up at Donald in sudden understanding. Something dreadful had happened. Something dreadful would continue to happen.

Donald gazed upon the castle in the distance, and in his mind's eye he could see an enemy trying to prevent him from going any further. A force greater than mortal understanding was keeping them trapped, keeping him in pain, and it scared Donald down to his bones. He could punch people, he could yell at guardsmen and captains, but this was inherently superior to him in every way and he didn't know how to fight it. It was telling him to forget everything, and if he dared to continue on this path, his pain would get worse, and he would forget everything – his lover, his friends, his sister, his life. Could he really survive without those memories?

“I'm going to save Minnie,” he snarled at the unknown entity. “Whatever Mortimer is doing, whatever he's throwing at us, I am not stopping! I know I'm forgetting things... but I'll make new memories! I'll never lose the love I have for my sister! The love I have for everyone! Nothing can make me lose what's most important! I'm going, and that's final!” To heck with magic and spells and gold and straw, there was no power on earth greater than the will of one who truly loved another.

But his glorious speech at nothing ended when he felt Daisy's hand tugging him again. He glared down at her. “I said I'm not stopping!”

“Oh, shut up, I'm not stopping you.” Daisy tugged again, this time so she could steady herself as she climbed into the saddle behind him. “If you have to go into the dungeon for a million years, then I'm going with you. It's better than being alone out here.” She hugged him around the waist.

Clarabelle lifted her head, it being the only thing she was strong enough to lift. “Sure, you go on ahead, make us look like the bad guys! Horace, take me with them! I wanna go to the dungeon too, if it means I can be with my friends! Can't be much worse out here!”

Horace groaned, but he walked with his wife in his arms. “But that means I'll have go to the dungeon too, I don't wanna be without you! Hope they got nice beds in there.”

“STOP SAYING YOU WANNA GO IN THE DUNGEON!” Donald snapped at those he cared for, wondering if the memory loss was including the loss of any intelligent thought. “For goodness sake, you're getting too depressing!” No wonder no one wanted to be King, getting people to collectively work together was a lot harder than speeches and cheering. “Let's just save Minnie, and we'll take it from there!” He forced his horse on, and as the slightly-brave ragtag group of misfits trudged on, one by one they were joined by another villager, and another, and another.

It wasn't a loud cry of energized revolutionaries, given how they needed to stop and go, stop and go, stop and go for their constant pains, but even a slow turtle can be a dangerous force if its jaws are strong enough. With every step the spell warped their brains further, bringing a fresh stinging pain, and soon even memories unrelated to the magician began to drift away. Names were lost, time was an illusion, and soon Donald even forgot the voice of his beloved sibling. Yet none of this truly stopped them, for no matter how powerful the spell was, it could only erase memories, not feeling.

It wasn't hate towards the King that spurred them on toward the castle, nor hope for change. It was love, love for someone in the castle, love for someone they had lost, love for one another, love for those who had earned this miracle of feelings.

Not a single one them knew that the person who loved them all in turn was right beside them, hoping that it wasn't too late.

~*~

Those who hadn't been in the village for the odd gathering were already at the castle getting things ready for the wedding. Flowers, streamers, those little hot dogs that are somehow at every classy party, everything was being rushed as fast as possible. Mortimer decided to hold it in the throne room, and Minnie was sitting in the Queen's seat, silently running white thread through white cloth. If this was a different situation, she would've told Mortimer that making a fitting, gorgeous wedding gown within hours was next to impossible, even with her skills. But for now she didn't even need it to look good, and she found herself opening and fixing the same stitch over and over again as she thought just to keep herself busy.

Mortimer was directing orders to a very irritated priest, a snowy owl who mentally appeared to asking several deities what he'd done to deserve this. “Why should I be making the vows?” Mortimer was demanding, flipping through his checklist. “You should be vowing to me, and making the entire village vow to love me forever!”

“Sire, have you ever _been_ to a wedding before?”

“Now why should that matter?”

Pete was off in a corner, eating the little hot dogs that are somehow at every classy party, glad that someone else was the subject of Mortimer's abuse for the moment. Minnie stitched and stitched again, her eyes on the keys hanging off Mortimer's belt. He never appeared to take them off, and so it appeared the only way she was going to get them was if he took off his belt, and to be there when that happened meant...

Minnie didn't need the spell in order for that thought to make her nauseous. Of course she wanted to find a way to get the keys without going that far, but her options were limited and getting fewer by the hour. She would sacrifice everything in order to see the village freed and the magician in his rightful place. Her stitching began to slow down. But would she ever be the same, after the wedding night? She wanted to believe she would be, that she'd still be good and kind and embrace the world with open arms, but there was a dark reality that came with the wedding ring. Even if the spell was broken, she would never forget what Mortimer would do to her, and what she'd have allowed him to do. Her eyes became watery. She wished the magician was there, or Donald, or Clarabelle or Daisy or someone, and she was scared, so very scared - 

That was when Pete shoved one of those little hot dogs that are somehow at every classy party into her face. He wasn't looking at her, perhaps embarrassed to be showing sympathy. “I don't want this one, smells kinda rank, you might as well have it.”

Minnie blinked twice before smiling and taking the treat into her fingers. “Thank you.” As she looked at Pete, she saw that flash of memory again, of the man he used to be – no, the man he could still be. No matter what Mortimer had done, he couldn't erase people's potential.

“Yeah, well, I probably shouldn't be eating them anyway.” Pete kept diffusing his decent deed. “Me bein' so big and all.”

Minnie placed her sewing needle down. “What's wrong with your size?”

Pete stopped, and stared at Minnie incredulously. “What're you, blind? I'm big as a house!”

“I don't think your size makes you a bad person,” she replied, keeping on her smile of pure kindness. “Big, little, I think you're very good at what you do. I think it's only a bad thing if _you_ think it's a bad thing. Do you think your size is a bad thing?”

The Captain slowly moved his eyes toward Mortimer, who was now making rules about how everyone should toast him, and only him, after the ceremony. Minnie touched Pete's hand gently. “Not him, you. Do you think your size is a bad thing? Because I remember someone...” The headache throbbed and she fought it, squeezing Pete's hand. “I remember someone who believed in you, who knew you could do great things. And you believed what he said.”

Pete wanted to pull his hand away but he didn't. “Why are you tryin' to be so nice to me? You know what I do your brother, there's no way you don't know!”

“I know you pick on him so you feel better about yourself.” Minnie looked Pete in his eyes and he couldn't move. “But is bullying Donald ever going to make you like yourself? Is it ever going to stop Mortimer from saying all those mean things? If you had just one person who liked you, the real you...would it make up for everything?”

“How am I supposed to think with everyone yammering?!” Mortimer then yelled, startling the mouse and the cat, but he wasn't talking about them. He flew to an open window, poking his head out. “KEEP IT DOWN!” He then paused as he realized what he was looking at. “Huh. Everyone must be really eager to come to my wedding, they're all here early!”

Confused, Pete jogged up to Mortimer's side and looked outside. It seemed as if the entire village was at the castle doors, pounding the walls and demanding to be let in, moaning in pain and slumping their bodies against one another. Pete was perhaps a little slower than the next man, but even he could see what this was. “Your Highness, they're not here to attend the party, they're here to crash it!”

“Don't be stupid...well, it's you, of course you're going to be stupid.” Mortimer clicked his tongue to his big teeth. “They wouldn't dare try to ruin my big day! They all love me! And if they don't love me, you know exactly what to do. Or do I have to spell it out for you, tubby?”

Had Minnie not spoken to Pete minutes before, the shard in his heart would've stayed the same size. But she had, so it grew, and Pete clenched his fingers tightly, his teeth grinding. “...Take that back.”

Mortimer ignored him, waving down at the peasants. “You all better have decent gifts! I'm not accepting anything less than the best!”

“I'm _talking_ to you,” Pete thundered, drawing himself up as straight as he could. “And I told you to take that back.”

“That reminds me, where's your gift?” Mortimer pointed at Pete, ignoring the clear danger right in front of him. “Or did you eat it already? Ha-cha-cha, where do I come up with-”

“YOU INSULT ME ONE MORE TIME AND I'LL RIP OUT YOUR MOLARS!” Pete grabbed Mortimer by the collar of his robes and yanked him in close. “I'm sick of it! Day in, day out, it's fat, fat, fat, fat! WELL WHAT'S SO WRONG WITH BEING FAT?!”

Mortimer dropped his check-list, and Minnie took the opportunity, waving the owl into the next room for safety. “Hey, easy, easy, big fella!” Mortimer held up his hands. “They're just jokes! Why are you taking them so seriously?”

“BECAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO FINDS THEM FUNNY!” Pete roared, spittle flying all over Mortimer's face. “I don't like hating myself! I don't like being used as punching bag! I don't like how you treat me! And if working for you means I don't like myself, then I QUIT!”

“You can't quit, YOU'RE FIRED!” Mortimer yelled right back, slamming his forehead into Pete's – and with that shove, he didn't feel his future bride snatching something away. “Anyone in this kingdom would be more than happy to take your place! I hope you enjoy prison food, because that's what you're going to have for the rest of your life! GUARDS!”

But the guards didn't come right away to take Pete. They were too busy with the invasion – as exhausted and agonized as the villagers were, there was enough of their numbers to force the door open and pour inside. The weight of the spell came with them, striking each guardsman with a headache and crippling everyone inside the castle. Pete fell to one knee, and Mortimer staggered to a wall, breathing haphazardly. He wiped spit from his mouth, reaching down. “Fine! I'll lock you up myself! It'll be your wedding gift to me!” But when he reached down to grab his keys, they weren't there.

Mortimer looked up, and saw Minnie fleeing into the next room, and horror struck him like a punch to the face. “NO! You get back here, you little brat!” He shoved Pete aside and chased after the seamstress, ignoring all the servants and guards who were collapsing from the weight of the spell. All around them, the kingdom was dying, yet nothing would stop the madman and the maiden.

Minnie managed to find the room first, and it took three keys to find the right one that clicked it open. She could hear Mortimer screaming down in the hallway, describing what he would do to her in great detail, and once inside she slammed the door knowing she had only seconds to spare. The miracle was in here, and all she had to do was find it, and surely – she turned around – surely it would be - 

The room was empty.

No paintings, no furniture, no books, nothing that would contain a hint to the magician's name. Mortimer had thrown everything away, keeping his hold on the kingdom secure without knowing it. Minnie slowly sank down, hopeless tears dripping down her pale cheeks. All she had done, all she was sacrificing, it was for nothing. She would lose herself, her family, her friends, her cherished love, despite trying her best. She would forget everything, and the magician would be lost forever. Even now, the last of what she remembered was fleeing.

Donald's happy announcement of his new job at the castle.

Daisy giving teasing tips on how to win a boy over.

Horace and Clarabelle inviting everyone over for a celebratory dinner.

The magician, when he was a prince, telling Minnie and only Minnie about that mysterious book in his father's floor...

… In his father's floor. In his father's floor. In his father's - 

_Like father, like son._

Minnie looked down at the floor, where she'd fallen on her hands and knees – her hands knocked on the floorboard directly beneath her, and there was a hollow sound – like something was hidden - 

Mortimer slammed open the door. “You're going to pay for this! Being my bride was too good for you!”

Minnie grabbed the edges of the secret door – the magician had never thought to lock it, Mortimer had not thought to look for a secret he didn't know existed - Mortimer reached out to grab her – and there inside was a single golden ring – he was pulling her by the arm and she grabbed the ring, able to see an inscription on the inside, and she read it out as loudly as she could - 

“To Minnie, my bride, my one and only, with all my love – Mickey!”

~*~

And in that last, desperate instant, everyone remembered.

~*~

_“Horace, I don't want you to worry about a thing,” Mickey said as he helped Horace lay down in bed. “For all your service towards the kingdom, the kingdom will now pay its service to you.” He smiled, and put a hand to his chest, turning towards Clarabelle. “Health shouldn't be a question of rich or poor... I will see to that.” She hugged him, and Mickey laughed, hugging her back._

_~*~_

_“Are you kidding?” Mickey mused, lightly nudging Daisy with his elbow. “Donald's head over heels for you, you should absolutely ask him out! And I, uh, know a thing or two about being head over heels for someone.” This he said rather quickly, blush to his cheeks. “He's not gunna care about the differences between your families. Just ask him, I know he'll say yes, if he doesn't shout it from the rooftops first!”_

_~*~_

_“You're great at what you do, and that's why you're here!” Mickey shook Pete's hand, waving around enthusiastically at the safe kingdom around them. “And we should tell you that much more often! I don't ever want you looking down at yourself again, okay?” He lightly punched Pete's arm, knowing he'd barely feel it. “If you ask me, there's just more of you to love!”_

_~*~_

_“I guess I am kinda jealous of what you and Minnie have,” Mickey admitted in-between chews, knowing that when he was around Donald he was allowed to ignore table manners. “I don't think Mortimer and I will ever have that. You're a great brother. Makes me wish you were my brother.” Then, with a little chuckle, he wiped his face with his arm. “Maybe you should be everyone's brother! The official kingdom big brother! Ha ha ha!”_

_~*~_

_“I'm not going to let you ruin everyone's life because of your selfishness, Mortimer!” Mickey jabbed his finger into Mortimer's chest, refusing to back down. “The kingdom deserves better! So you can either support us, or you can move aside! Either way, this kingdom is not going to have you for a ruler! And if you ever come near Minnie again, I swear everyone in the village will be after your head!”_

_~*~_

_“I love you,” Mickey held Minnie's hands together in his hand, resting on one bent knee, the sunlight bathing them both in her quaint house. “I love you so much, I...I don't know what to do, or what to say, or even how to think! And if you'll let me, I want to be with you forever! I want to make a million wonderful memories with you! I love you, I love you, I love you!”_

~*~

When Minnie opened her eyes, a golden flurry of straw swept the room, and she and Mortimer watched in stupefied wonder as a shadow walked out of the dying hurricane. There stood the magician – there stood Prince Mickey, the proper heir to the throne, in all his regal wonder. He was probably going to say something clever and dramatic, maybe involving puns, and once again Minnie threw off his script, jumping into his arms and kissing him with the weight of a thousand missed opportunities. This time Mickey didn't fight off the urge to return her affection, dipping her low and meeting her lips with everything he'd held back.

Mortimer, who remembered who this was and knew exactly how much trouble he was in, hoped he could escape before the lovers remembered a third party was in the room. But when he backed up, his body hit several roadblocks. He ever so slowly turned around to see Pete, Donald, Daisy, Horace, Clarabelle, and several highly miffed villagers. Their headaches were gone, so now they could be as angry as they pleased. And boy were they angry.

“Uh,” was all Mortimer could get out, waving his thin fingers meekly. “So...I guess saying 'forgive and forget' would be in bad taste?”

Mortimer possibly would have been tarred and feathered that very second if Mickey hadn't finally chosen to pry his mouth away from Minnie's and clear his throat. “Hi, everybody!”

All eyes flew to the better prince, and there came a joyous cry of “MICKEY!” Mortimer was then trampled by eager villagers running in to hug and embrace their friend and true leader, tears of joy streaming down their faces. Many began recalling their memories out loud, dancing in glee as the best of times were properly returned. Minnie kept pulling Mickey back to her, flooding him with kisses, none of which Mickey objected to. Again, Mortimer tried to make an escape, and again, he was prevented, this time by the combined forced of Pete and Donald, who gave each other wistful smiles as they propped up the tyrant toddler.

Mickey crossed his arms as he faced his nefarious elder brother, who in turn gulped. “Oookay. So I didn't exactly handle things well. But!” He sighed sadly, putting an arm on his forehead. “You don't understand! All I ever wanted was to be loved! Is that so wrong?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Mickey flipped his magical staff and poked it into Mortimer's chest. “You can't snap your fingers and make people love you! Love is earned! You never did anything to earn people's love, and you made the entire kingdom suffer for it! But no matter what you did, you could never make these amazing people give up! Give me one!” A hard poke. “Single!” And another. “Solitary! Reason! I shouldn't lock you up for every day you hurt them!”

To be fair, Mortimer did try to think it over, his eyes darting about before resting on Minnie, who was tightly clinging onto Mickey's arm, glaring at her almost-husband. “Because...we're family! You wouldn't really throw your big brother away in the dungeon, would you? Come on!” He broke free of Pete and Donald's grasp, getting on his knees and begging. “Just tell me what I can do to stay free! Come on, there's gotta be something!”

Mickey paused for a moment, glancing at Minnie, and then held his chin. “Hmmm... I guess there's one thing you could do. And if you did it, I'd let you stay out of the dungeon.”

Mortimer tried not to grin. What a sucker, he'd be free and back in control in no time! “You just name it!”

Mickey leaned in, smiling. “All you have to do... is turn all that gold back into straw.”

“...What.”

“Well, all that gold would completely throw off our economy!” Mickey quipped, waving in the guards to hoist Mortimer up. “But we sure could use that straw to keep the horses fed. So, when you can turn it all back, that's when I'll let you out. Where's the book, so you can learn how to do it?” But judging by Mickey's winning grin, he knew precisely what had already happened to the enchanted tome.

Mortimer's jaw dropped, and once he was dragged out of the room, he let out a long, agonizing moan of true and utter defeat. He kicked his feet and wailed like a child, unable to blame anyone but himself for getting him in this disaster. With the eyesore gone, the villagers resumed celebrating, and Donald slapped Mickey and Minnie on the back. “It's good to have you back, Mickey! This place just wasn't the same without you – we weren't the same without you! And you saved my sister just in time!”

“I didn't save anyone,” Mickey calmly objected, a hand on his heart. “Minnie saved herself! You all did! This kingdom would be nothing without the great people in it... and I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long.” He was about to ask Minnie's forgiveness for his initial cowardice, but when he saw his wedding ring now on her finger, he could see she'd already forgiven him.

He wasn't the only one who saw it. Clarabelle let out a giant “OOOH!” Before she and her chicken clapped. “If that's what I think it is, then Mortimer did one thing right! He helped set up a wedding, and now we can have one right here and right now! Let's toast the new couple, and-”

“Are you nuts?” Donald interrupted, back to his usual temper. “Mickey _just_ returned! He's got a million and one things to fix before he can get married! This isn't some fairy tale where there's a wedding and happily ever after, we've got real work to do!”

Mickey couldn't help but laugh as the same wisdom Donald used to bestow upon Mickey hadn't changed at all. “He's right! I think, for now, we're just engaged... if Minnie doesn't mind, that is.”

Minnie looked down at her ring. For the first time in ages, her head was free of pain and doubt. All of her memories had returned, and she treasured all of them. But as much as she wanted to officially become Mickey's bride, there were still plenty of new memories to make – restoring the kingdom, easing the taxes, and the castle could use a good clean up. Mickey was here now, and he wasn't going anywhere.

She rolled up her sleeves. “My fiancée knows very well that it wouldn't be a happy wedding if I knew all of you were still stuck in such sorry conditions.” She smirked to see Mickey turn that familiar shade of red. “It's time we made more memories, ones we will never ever forget! It's time we welcomed Mickey back home!” She grabbed Mickey's hand, and Donald grabbed the other. Without waiting for Mickey to catch up, they ran ahead, their merry laughter echoing in the hall. Pete offered to let Horace sit on his shoulder as they exited the castle, and even though night was settling and the moon was rising, no one could even dream of sleeping.

Everyone in the village continued to say Mickey's name over and over, afraid that if it went unspoken for a moment it would be forgotten again. It would take time for Mortimer's damage to be entirely healed, but with a familiar voice cheering them on, the villagers knew it could be done. There would be a wedding – there would be many weddings – but there was no rush to see a bride or a bouquet now that time was theirs again, now that their lives were safe.

Some wrote down this cautionary tale so it would be remembered, others performed it in plays and puppetry. But Minnie decided to remember it in her own way, and when her day of great happiness arrived, she wove an elaborate golden cloak with hints of straw within the fringes as a gift to her husband. Like any good cloth, it was used time and time again – resown into swaddling blankets for children, cut into patches for repairing her brother's outfit, and tucked into pillows for a kiss of good luck. It passed into legend that because of this, soon every villager had a piece of this golden cloth for their own. In years to come, this would cause Haulm to be known as the golden kingdom, with its shining King and loving Queen.

Memories are odd things. No matter how desperately you wish to hold onto them, you will forget in time. The details will fade, the colors will lose their illumination, but the feeling they gave will still be there. The taste of a kiss can drift, but the love that beats whenever one looks upon that special person will stay forever. It was because of this that eventually Mickey forgot the goofy old wizard who had helped him out decades ago.

But the wizard didn't forget – truth be told, he never forgot Mickey's name in the first place. He was far too powerful to let his own spell overcome him. It'd been a little white lie in order to make the boy return home and set things right. In the end, he decided that perhaps Haulm no longer needed magic, and it was time to find another kingdom they could use some kindness... if they gave kindness in return.

To be fair, he'd never told Mickey his real name either. He never liked it too much, it was such a mouthful. So he had settled on a simple nickname, and allowed his real name to be forgotten in the sands of time. With the book of spells under his arm – the old man chuckled to himself, amused that anyone thought mere fire could destroy his work – he whistled an old song and headed to the next kingdom.

“Tonight, tonight, my plans I make, tomorrow, tomorrow, a friend I'll take, true love always wins the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name. A-hyuck!”


End file.
